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A WREATH OF RHYMES. 



WREATH OF RHYMES. 



MILLIE MAYFIELD. [j^^c^c^ c^J 



" Written with little skill of song-craft, 
Homely phrases, but each letter 
Full of hope, and yet of heart-break." 

Longfellow. 



V 

PHILADELPHIA ^ 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1869. 

c/ 



t^>^N' 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Eastern 
District of Pennsylvania. 



IIPPINCOTT'S PRESS, 

PHILADELPHIA. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Fame i^ 

The Battle of Life 14 

King Frost 17 

Pearls lo 

Wrecks 20 

Charity 21 

The Gleaner 23 

Backward and Forward 24 

Thoughts 26 

Sunshine 27 

Wait Patiently 28 

Retrospection OQ 

Forgive . . 01 

A Broken Friendship 02 

" Blessings Brighten as they Take their Flight." 33 

Little Allie 34 

The Moon's Journey. ^S 

Lena Lee 38 

Hope 39 

The Rainy Day 40 

Thy Memory ; 43 



Whither ?. 



44 



Echo 45 

1* 5 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Midnight Hour 46 

Forgetfulness 48 

Nothing New 50 

Looking in the Fire 5^ 

Memory 54 

The Poet's Home 55 

His Own Works 57 

To-morrow 5^ 

A Child Sleeping 59 

Convalescent 60 

A Thought 62 

Good-night 63 

Faith 64 

Why is It ? 67 

Friendship 69 

The Song Spirit 70 

Zoe 73 

Magnanimity. 74 

" After the Darkness Comes the Morning." 78 

The Prince of Wooers 79 

Garlands 81 

April Z^ 

Storm 85 

Forget Me Not 86 

Dreaming 87 

We Miss Thee 89 

The Soul's Hope , 90 

The New Year 92 

Love 94 

The Centennial Birth-day of Robert Burns 95 

A-Maying 97 

A Question 98 

My Mother's Portrait 99 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAGE 

Night loi 

Half-mast 103 

Spring 105 

«' Hie Jacet." 107 

Homely Hetty Gray I09 

Contentment 1 1 1 

A Lay for the Ladye Moon 113 

The Wind Spirit "4 

The Song of Life 116 

Unrest 1 19 

Weary 121 

Life 122 

Let us Forget 126 

The Song of Other Years 129 

Dying ^ 129 

Inconstancy 13^ 

'Gainst Wind and Tide. 133 

The Mystic Land • 134 

The Beautiful 136 

Daylight 138 

The Angel Monitor I39 

Midsummer's Eve I44 

The Norse Queen's Ride 146 

Once Upon a Time • 149 

The Loved and Lost 151 

My Birth-day 152 

A Little While i54 

Heaven 15^ 

Bessie Bell 158 

Hesperus 161 

My Bird 163 

The Penitent Mary 165 

An Album Dedication 166 



•8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Kindness 167 

Crushed 169 

Dead Leaves 171 

Fear Not— It is 1 173 

A Dream 174 

Song of the Pen 180 

Sadness 182 

" Marah." 184 

Bravery 185 

To * * * 187 

An Evangel 188 

Remembrance : 190 

Space 191 

The Arctic Explorers 193 

The Siren's Song 198 

Friendship's Evening Star. 200 

Fairy Bountiful and Little Grumbler 202 

Women Versus Ladies 207 

Consolation 210 

The Dying Year 211 

Cold Beauty 213 

The Arctic Night : 214 

The Seer 216 

Magic Wings ^. 217 

The Call 220 

The Moments 222 

Eve-Land 223 

Death is There ! 224 

" Is the Earth Growing Colder .?" 226 

The Drop of Dew 227 

An Epistle 228 

Moonlight 229 

Summer's Dead ! , 231 



CONTENTS. 9 



PACK 



Nellie 233 

An Invocation 234 

Weariness 236 

" How long, O Lord?" 237 

The Cross-roads 238 

The Maniac's Song 240 

Annabel May 242 

Life-Tides. . , 243 

Clouds 245 

Watching and Waiting 247 

« L" 248 

To Thee 250 

Perfection 251 

Distrust 253 

Adela 254 

Autumn and Age 255 

" The De'il is Nae so Black as he is Painted." 257 

We Two 258 

At Eventide 259 

A Tribute 261 

Hope Deferred 263 

Her Smile. 264 

Love and the Maiden 266 

Just Married 267 

The Drowned Maiden 269 

Light and Shade 271 

The Lily's Reply 273 

The Heavenly Home 274 

Never Too Late 276 

Caledonia's Wild Harp 277 

Apathetic 279 

Mad Madge 281 

Epitaph 284 



lO CONTENTS, 

PAGE 

Boyhood 284 

Flirtation 285 

To " Leander." 286 

The Witch-Hazel Dell 288 

A Picture 290 

Morning. . 291 

The Last Sleep 293 

Always Remembered 295 

Psalm cxxxviii 297 

How to Preserve Youth 298 

The Wind and the Shower. 301 

Good and Evil 302 

My Enemy 304 

** Be Strong in the Lord." 306 

Telegraphic. 306 

" Our Father." 308 

Dreams 309 

Rest 311 

Lyra. 312 

The Spirit of the Past 314 

The World Beyond 316 

Odd Fellowship 317 

The Odd Fellows' Mission 319 

The Angel Child 320 

The Morning Cometh 320 

Evening ; 322 

The Eagle and the Dove 323 

An Excuse for Rhyming 328 

Self-Communing 329 

A Stormy Sunset 331 

A Solemn March 333 

The Magician 335 

The Greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven 336 



CONTENTS. 1 1 

PAGE 

According to thy Gifts 337 

Jean Ingelow 339 

Nothing to Love 340 

" Thy Faith hath Made thee Whole." 342 

Life's Mission 343 

Epicedium 345 

The Early Dead 347 

The Star of Judea 349 

Judge Not. 352 

Born 353 

Arise 354 

The Conversion of St. Paul 356 

Love One Another 357 

The Old Woman to the Young One 359 

My Neighbor 360 

The Wedding Garment 362 

" The Love that Passeth Uriderstanding." 364 

The Beginning and the End 365 

The Suffering 3^7 

The Infant Teacher in the Temple 370 

" Only a Jew !" 371 

Who are the Blessed ? 373 

" Follow Me." 375 

An Obituary 376 

" Daisy Women." 378 

The Nativity 380 

" Arise and Walk !" 382 

My Faith 384 

" The Lord our Righteousness." 385 



A WREATH OF RHYMES. 



FAME. 



A FAINT, low breath o'er the sea of Life — 
And a little bubble's born ; 
Onward it floats, through the whirlwind's strife, 

Or the hush of midsummer's morn, 
Riding the top of the stormiest wave 

The distant goal to gain — 
A golden strand, where no tempests rave 
To toss the silvery main. 

Where the bay tree bends o'er the jeweled beach, 

And murmuring myrtles near 
Are weaving crowns for the daring reach 

Of those who were born to wear ! 
And the painted bubble, with pride inflate, 

Has kissed the shore, so gay — 
When lo ! it bursts, and its empty state 

Has passed, with a breath, away ! 

2 13 



L 



14 THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 

MORN'S jeweled fingers 
Roll up the mist-shadows 
From pearl-beaded rivulets, 

Emerald-crown'd meadows — 
And crystallized mirrors 
Of sky and of lakelet 
Gleam blue as the violet's 
Eye in the brakelet. 

Out of the purpling 

Haze of the mountain, 
And clear thro' the silvery 

Spray of the fountain — 
Over the glass of the 

Serpentine river. 
And up from deep Ocean's 

Light wavelets, that quiver — 

Are earth's ringing paeans 

All grandly ascending, 
The while the old Day-Star 

His lustre is lending 
To light up the great 

Panorama, where Strife 
With the Angel of Peace 

Fights the Battle of Life ! 

Arm for the contest, 

O mortal ! how glorious 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 15 

The morning shall redden 

That finds thee victorious ! 
Man ! tho* the field may be 

Bloodless, the struggle 
With Evil's wild army 

Asks strength of thee double. 

First — tho' the hosts that 

Beset thee are legion — 
Look down in thy heart's 

Secret, shadowy region, 
And there, to entrap thee, 

A foeman is nestling, 
The whom to subdue takes 

Thy mightiest wrestling. 

Buckle the breastplate 

Of truth to thy bosom — 
Let Faith be thy banner — 

And twine with the blossom 
Of Reason, the soft buds 

Of Love and Forbearance ; 
Then off with the veil of 

The senses — the clearance 

Shall show thee, that light 

Is the cause of the shadow ; 
And from old decay springs 

The green of the meadow ; 
That what we call " right" 

Has evolved from the Wrong— 
And when ye discern this. 

Your armor is strong ! 



1 6 THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 

Fight the good fight, 

And your courage make known 
When asking for bread 

Ye are tendered a stone. 
For Nature harmoniously 

Singeth one song, 
And Man shall its burthen 

Triumphant prolong ! 

Type of the Being 

Who made thee ! no trembling 
When facing the ill ; it 

Is useless, dissembling 
That sin, sorrow, self must 

Be conquered, ere glorious 
That morrow shall dawn that will 

Find thee victorious ! 

These are the evils 

Foreshadowing the good — 
Battle one bravely, 

Away flies the brood — 
Down with strong self 

In the troublous strife, 
And the conquest is gained 

In the Battle of Life ! . 



KING FROST. 1 7 



KING FROST. 

BY the red brand on the sunset hill, 
And Dian's burnished horn, 
Gleaming o'er twilight's purple rill — 

The King will ride ere morn ! 
His herald, the North wind, a blast has blown 

For a full score of hours, 
And the chilled blood has curdling flown 
From the lips of the frightened flowers. 

There's a weird glare in each lamp afar 

That's lit in the burnished blue. 
Which only burns when the grim King's car 

Is rolling night's arches through ; 
And a hush in the woodlands and on the plain, 

As his chariot's wheels draw nigh 
And scatter white spray, in an icy rain, 

Unheeding the daisy's sigh. 

Oh the pale-cheeked morn will beckon the sun 
To view a desolate sight — 

To see how the tyrant's hand has undone 
The summer's work in a night ! 

How the forest lords have doffed their green 
To don his yellow suit — 

How the grasses fade 'neath his glittering sheen- 
How his sword has cleft the fruit ! 

And the crimson spots on each rifted leaf 
Will tell of the darker deed, 
2 * B 



KING FROST. 

Of midnight struggle fierce, tho' brief, 
And the conqueror's bloody meed ! 

Oh ring your bugles shrill and clear, 
Winds — pipe aloud your glee ; 

For your King, in his ermine robes, so fair, 
Has led to victory ! 

Yea, toss the withered leaves on high. 

Make sport where you've ruin brought ; 
A few brief days, and sweet April's eye 

Will weep o'er the wrong you've wrought ; 
And the gentle drops, as they softly fall. 

Will waken hope anew 
In each trodden heart, till the sombre pall 

Rolls back from the violet's blue. 

The crocus her starry glance will raise 

At sympathy's sweet tear, 
And mountain-pinks blush forth their praise 

When her tender tones they hear ; 
And from its emerald tent of leaves 

Each bud, at the call, will spring, 
And with dainty hues hang its fairy eaves. 

And its sweetest perfume bring 

To greet the victor, now, who cornes. 

Not with the flashing sword 
To mark a track thro' desolate homes — 

But with power of a gentle word! — 
The magic power of a kindly smile. 

The eloquence of tears 
That fall on the bruised heart, the while. 

And heal the wounds of years. 



PEARLS. 19 

O power of kindness ! April's smiles, 

Alternate with her tears, 
That work their sweet and winning wiles. 

Till every nook appears 
Clothed with a splendor Solomon, 

In all his glorious state, 
Could not compete with — show to one 

That thou, of all, art great ! 

Brute force may tread with an iron heel, 

And rule with despotic rod ; 
But gentleness will softly steal 

Round the heart, for it comes from God ! — 
For while devastation marketh all 

Oppression's ruthless deeds. 
The flowers of hope at a tender call 

Spring up, and bear goodly seeds ! 



PEARLS. 



AN anguish-drop, 'tis said, is the pearl, 
A tear by the shell-fish shed — 
That the glistening gem in beauty's curl 
Is a drop that its heart has bled. 

So pearls of feeling, and gems of thought. 

Are the products, oft of pain, 
In sorrow's alchemy purely wrought 

Till they shine without a stain ! 



20 WRECKS. 

WRECKS. 

STREWN o'er Ocean's "Place of Skulls,' 
Where the wave the petrel lulls, 
Lie the missing spars and hulls. 

Crystallized upon the shore 

Of icy-jeweled Labrador, 

Are staved life-boat and broken oar. 

Where the storm-fiend holds the pass 

Of tempest-ridden Hatteras, 

Have noble barks gone down, alas ! 

Not a foam-wreathed lip of land — 
Not a beach of golden sand — 
Not a shell-enameled strand — 

Nor a rock where breakers boom 
Minute guns through midnight gloom, 
But has sounded notes of doom 

To some fated ship the gale — 

That pirate grim I — has shorn of sail. 

And reft of rigging, rope and rail ! 

Ah ! woeful wrecks the eyes of night. 
With their lightning gleams bedight. 
Glare down upon in ghastly light ! 

And the deep sea's coral caves 
Are but gem-bespangled graves. 
O'er whose uncoffined dead the waves 



CHARITY. 21 

Will dance and leap and joyous play — 
Tho' tearful eyes watch, night and day, 
For the ships that went away. 

Tide of Time ! that drifteth now 
Laden with each gladsome prow 
That tempts thy waves — how like art thou 

To yon restless flood, that sings 

The same old song, tho' priceless things 

Are buried in its hidden springs ! 

Thou hast borne our hopes and fears, 

The garnered joys of early years — 

And o'er their wrecks have fallen our tears ; 

To thy billows we have given 

The trust our childhood brought from Heaven 

To see its white sail soiled and riven ! 

Yet thou flowest careless by — 
Tho' on the strand of Ages lie 
Wrecks that would wake an angel's sigh ! 



CHARITY. 



HE sang of Love : — The lady turned, 
Her lip was curled in cold disdain. 
And in her eyes' dark centres burned 
Those lights, scarce scorn, nor wholly pain. 



22 CHARITY. 

But compound of the heart's intense 
Enlightener — Experience ! 
And Time's all-potent, powerful test, 
That probes the strength of every breast. 

" Love ! 'tis a weird, deceitful glare. 

Hiding the marsh from which it sprung- 
A meteor gleaming in the air — 

A bubble on life's streamlet flung ! 
O minstrel ! strike again the chord, 
But let it thrill to nobler word — 
For tho' Love like a seraph sings. 
His earthly bondage soils his wings." 

He tuned again his lyre ; and now 
Of Friendship — she of placid mien — 

He sang ; he praised her thoughtful brow, 
Her smiling lips and eyes serene. — 
" Cease, cease !" the lady cried, " there lies 

Cold calculation in her eyes ; 

For Friendship may be bought and sold. 

She is not proof 'gainst shining gold ! 

" I'll give thee theme for noble song, 
To thrill upon thy harp-strings free 
And echo all the spheres among — 

O minstrel, sing of Charity ! 
Long suffering is she, yet she's kind- 
Thinketh no evil, and is blind 
To her own merits. — Envieth not 
The good that is another's lot : 

" Beareth all things unto the end — 
Hopeth all things — endureth all ; 



THE GLEANER. 23 

Seeking the injured to defend — 

Knowing man's weakness, by his fall. 
Faith may lift up its eyes on high ; 
Hope may aspire to reach the sky ; 
But loving arms round eartJi throws she, 
To hide its faults — sweet Charity !" 



THE GLEANER. 

WHERE the sunset fields are overlaid 
With ridges of yellow grain, 
The dark-eyed Night, like the Moab maid, 

Follows the reaper's train — 
Old Day, with his sickle and stores of light. 

Letting down Eve's golden bars — 
And out of the chaff the gleaner. Night, 
Brings her apron full of stars. 

Then, thus on the world, go forth, O Soul ! 

If not as a reaper — glean 
The little seeds that unnoticed roll 

The stubble-mounds between ; 
And thine may be a crown, forsooth. 

Like that which the midnight weaves-^ 
For oh there are golden grains of truth 

Underlying all fallen sheaves ! 



24 BACKWARD AND FORWARD. 



BACKWARD AND FORWARD 

OVER what mountain ranges, 
In the mystical dream-light, 
Thro' lonely, rain-steep'd valleys, 

Hath my soul gone forth to-night ! 
O'er meadows grim with hoarfrost ; 

By silent founts and rills ; 
Thro' forests whirling dead leaves 
All over the barren hills — 

Until my feet have trodden 

The shore of a tideless sea. 
Whose blackened beach is strewn with 

Ashen apples for me ; 
With glittering barks dismantled, 

Riven and sullied sails, 
That once flashed bright in the freshness 

Of promise-breathing gales. 

The white fog lies on the water 

Like a shroud o'er the sheeted dead, 
And the stars look out of a vapor 

Of tears, o'er my bended head ; 
While dim, in the mist-stained heavens. 

The moon like a tombstone gleams 
Cold and white, and lettered 

All o'er with my early dreams. 

I would not dream them over. 

For the wealth of the golden stars — 



BACKWARD AND FORWARD. 25 

Not for the diamonds of Venus — 

Nor the rubies red of Mars ! 
Not again would I grasp the rainbow 

To find its brightness fled — ' 

Thank God ! they lie in the chancel 

Withered and cold and dead ! 

Thank God ! for the eye that can fathom 

The depths of the fleshy coil — ■ 
Thank God ! for the heart that can battle 

With this earthly state's turmoil ; — ■ 
For thus the red wine is gathered 

From the crushing press of Life, 
When the spark divine within us 

Ignites from the friction — Strife ! 

*Tis true, in the vaulted chambers 

Of the ruins of the Past, 
Covered with rust and mildew, 

Lie things too bright to last ; 
But out of their dust and ashes, 

On some resurrection-morn. 
They will spring like the meadow daisy 

From last year's mould re-born ! 

And tho' by a tideless ocean, 

With no returning wave, 
I stand to-night in the blackness 

And find no jewel to save 
From the wrecks that in pride once bore me — 

I know in the depths of that sea 
There are priceless pearls awaiting 

The diving — ay, pearls for me ! 
3 



26 THOUGHTS. 

So, welcome, the rack of feeling — 

Welcome the scourge of years — ■ 
Welcome, the Stygian billow 

That crystallizes tears ! 
Forward ! forward ! my jewels 

(Each glittering tear I've shed) 
I'll gather in untold brightness 

When the sea gives up its dead ! 



THOUGHTS. 

COMING, going, in the twilight, 
In the morning, noon and night, 
Winged shapes are flitting past me, 
But the brightest ne'er alight. 

Never one with golden sunshine 
Meshed within its radiant wing, 

But it mocks me — fluttering ever 
Where I cavmot hear it sing. 

I would charm the warbler, knew I 
Lure to catch the bright-wing'd thing, 

While I'm flooded with the glitter 
That its waving pinions bring — 

But my reach can never grasp it ; 

Never unto durance bring 
One of all the bright-plumed creatures 

That come near, but never sing ! 



SUNSHINE. 27 



SUNSHINE. 

TELL me not of moonbeams gleaming, 
Far too death-like are their rays ; 
Give me the merry sunshine beaming 
Thro' the golden summer days. 

The bright sun comes like Hope, to lighten 
Weary pilgrims on life's road — 

The earth's green livery seems to brighten, 
And fruit and flowers before him nod. 

The birds break forth in joyous measure ; 

All Nature sings a song of praise — 
The tiniest mote will dance with pleasure 

Within his warm, inspiring rays ! 

While cold and pale the moonbeams quiver- 
The white-faced planet's tithes are tears ! 

'Tis only in the rushing river 
Reflected, her dim face appears. 

Her satellite, the tided Ocean, 

Pays watery tribute to her power ; 

Her wan smile wakes but sad emotion. 
And tears beseem the moonlit bower. 

But give me smiles instead of teardrops — 

I love the daisy more than rue ; 
Life is too short — its wear and tear stops 

Mirth too soon — despair to woo. 



28 WAIT PATIENTLY. 

WAIT PATIENTLY. 

" To everything beneath the sun there cometh a last day." 

DROOP not, Brother, in the valley 
Roofed with tears and bridged with sighs- 
Far above thee, o'er the mountain, 

See the bow of promise rise ! 
Plume thy soul to struggle bravely 

With its fetters made of clay ; 

For, be sure, to all earth's sorrows 

That there cometh a last day. 

Weary Sister, wounded sorely 

By a harsh, unfeeling world — 
Courage ! tho' the shaft of slander 

With its venom's at thee hurled ; 
Virtue wears a charmed mande, 

Which repels the dart's dark way — 
Time alone will test its merits. 

And to thy wrongs bring a last day. 

Child of Pleasure ! gayly chasing 

Phantoms, fading in thy clasp^ 
Plucking gilded fruit, which ever 

Turns to ashes in thy grasp ! 
Pause ! and think of moments wasted, 

Of time which speedeth fast away, 
Yet unimproved— for, oh believe it, 

To thy joys comes a last day. 

And cheerful one, who thro' life's changes 
Seeks in all some good to find — 



WAIT PATIENTLT. 29 

And bears both well and ill together 

With a calm, contented mind — 
Oh, thou art blest! for naught can turn thee 

From the bright, the upward way ! 
Thro' joy's glad smiles, or sorrow's wailing, 

Thou'rt still prepared for the last day. 

O mortal ! read aright the lesson 

'Graved on Nature's tablets deep ! 
The bright leaf withers — where the rock rose 

Proudly, now the billows leap ! 
Star by star, from yon blue heaven, 

Silently hath passed away. 
The fate of worlds must still be ours — 

And to each, and all, comes a last day ! 

Then faint not when the burden's heavy, 

Time will surely make it light ; 
Hope, thro' all things, for the morrow 

Which must dawn o'er darkest night ! 
And, thro' all life's ills, remember 

The years still roll their ceaseless way, 
Shaking from thy glass the moments 

Till there's left but thy last day. 

So live that when that day's declining, 

And ushers in the night of death, 
Its shadow will for thee no terrors 

Have, as flees thy latest breath ; 
But, brightly o'er the hills celestial. 

As streams the never-dying ray, 
Thy soul will soar on wings immortal 

To bask in Heaven's Eternal day ! 
3* 



30 RETROSPECTION. 



RETROSPECTION. 

WASTED years ! O wasted years ! 
Your pallid faces gleam to-night 
From Memory's surging sea of tears, 
O'er whose up-heaving flood appears 

No ray of friendly light. 
Down, ghosts ! unto your watery graves ! 
Sink, spectres ! deep, beneath the waves ! 
Ye stretch your withered hands in vain, 
I cannot bring ye back again. 

I cannot give ye back the truth, 

The hope and trust of life's young day— 
The fresh, warm impulses of 3'outh — 
The friendliness, that poison-tooth 

Of falsehood wore away. 
I may not string again such pearls 
For careworn brow and faded curls — 
Then, why, why call ye from the dark } 
Why fan to flames the Past's low spark } 

Phantom fingers on the wall 

Of old Remembrance, wherefore trace 
The golden moments, squandered all 
At folly's shrine — at pleasure's call — 

In lines tears can't efface ? 
In characters of fire, that burn 
The deeper as the path we turn 
Whose marble guide-post 'neath the yew 
Is lettered—" The Dark Valley to !"— 



FORGIVE. 31 

It may be, that, like him, the Seer 

Of Patmos' isle — ( who ate the book 
The angel gave, which did appear 
As honey to the taste, but ere 

The thunders ceased, which shook 
The rainbow-girdled firmament. 
Had turned to bitter streams, which sent 
The life-drops of experience 
His prophecies to tincture hence,) — 

That we must turn life's honeyed page, 
And drink its cup of sweetness dry. 
To find within the lees the sage, 
Tho' bitter, wholesome truths of age. 

Ere we can prophesy ; 
And if the chalice we have drained 
Before life's noontide hill we've gained, 
The tangled path will not seem long — 
We've learned to suffer and be strong ! 



FORGIVE. 

OH, never think the rankling seeds 
Of dark revenge, will ere 
Spring aught but bitter, noisome weeds. 
To put forth buds of care. 

Then tear them quickly from the heart — 
Once rooted there, they'll live — 

And choose the nobler, better part — 
Be God-like, and forgive ! 



32 A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 



A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 

J*- I ^WAS a fleeting, waking vision, 

X False as dreams of night could be- 
Yet I thought it no illusion 

When as friend I pictured thee ! 

Pure as snow-flakes seemed the promise 

(Ah ! I've found it was as cold !) 
Of the white bud friendship grafted 

On my heart in days of old. 

But the canker there was feeding, 

Tho' soft petals hid the sight ; 
Now, the withered leaves are telling, 

Ceaseless gnawing ends in blight ! 

Yet the tree it sought to cling to 

Still puts forth its loving arms — 
'Twould have sheltered the fair blossom 

From all ills, all vain alarms, 

Had the poison-worm not entered — 
Sapped the fountain of all bliss — • 

And with venora'd lip betrayed it 
With a treacherous, Judas kiss ! 

When thou said'st '' my friend !" I deemed thee 
Truthful, and I clasped thy hand — 

Thinking that such seal was lasting 
As German love for Fatherland ! 



BLESSINGS BRIGHTEN. 33 

Like a beatific vision 

Was the whitened shrine I reared ; 
But the altar-flame was lighted 

Too near earth — and now, 'tis charred. 

Yet the ashes I have gathered, 

In my heart to be inurned, 
Remnant of a plighted friendship 

All too holy to be spurned ! 

For tho' thou so desecrated 

The pure temple, still, to me, 
It was the fane where I enshrined 

A true heart's idolatry — 

And so fair the whited sculpture, 
That I scarce could think it clay — 

And I mourn that hand of thine should 
E'er have roll'd the stone away ! 



"BLESSINGS BRIGHTEN AS THEY TAKE 
THEIR FLIGHT." 

J 'T^IS the last flash of day's departing splendor, 

JL Lighting its funeral pyre on night's dark bier. 
That glows with greatest radiance, yet more tender. 

Because the brooding darkness is so near ! 
And thus the blessings, o'er our pathway scattered, 

By daily use lose their intrinsic light- 
But when they leave us, by some rude blow shattered, 

They grow the brighter as they take their flight. 

C 



34 LITTLE ALLIE. 



LITTLE ALLIE. 

LIKE a star-eyed daisy 
Brightening the valley, 
With a smile of gladness 

Cometh little Allie ; 
All her hopeful glances 

To the heart appealing, 
As if angel pinions 

Stirred our depths of feeling ! 

Little wandering sunbeam, 

In the shady places 
Where life's clouds have darkened 

Many weary faces — 
What may be thy mission 

He, alone, knows best 
Who took dear little children 

Within His arms, and bless'd ! 

And He hath said, " Their angels 

My Father's face do see : — 
Of such is heaven's kingdom !" — 

Then, Allie, dear, in thee 
We may be entertaining 

An angel, unaware — 
For God has set His signet 

Upon thy golden hair ! 

And if thy spirit standeth 

Beside the great White Throne, 



THE MOON'S JOURNEY. 35 

Then we poor earth-stained pilgrims 

Thy ministry should own ; 
Nor spurn the Infant Teacher — 

Remembering our need, ^ 

When lions shall lie down with lambs 

And a little child shall lead ! 



THE MOON'S JOURNEY. 

ROYALLY rose the queenly Moon, 
Refreshed from her ocean bath, 
Which sweetly flowed 'neath the ides of June- 

And up the crystal path 
That wound to the silver heights afar, 
Where the glittering tower of night 
Hung out a flashing, signal star, 
She floated in liquid light. 

Out from the darkness the roses came 

And raised their drooping heads. 
The peony bared its heart of flame. 

And daisies kissed the meads ; 
And many a thing that the thoughtful night 

Had veiled — not a whit too soon — 
Now broke on the placid eyes of light 

Of the calm, unruffled Moon. 

On many a scene of sweet content, 
And many a deed of ill, 



36 THE MOON'S JOURNEY. 

Fell her glances, as she slowly went 

From starry hill to hill. 
Now, where the pulse of the city bounds 

With life, shone her full, bright eye ; 
And now, on the hallow'd, grassy mounds 

Where the silent sleepers lie ! 

Over the billows, where sea-weeds wave 

Around some seaman's tomb, 
And a coral branch marks the watery grave 

Of manhood's stricken bloom. 
She lettered with silver the rolling w^ave. 

And wrote on the sparkling tide. 
That, " He who once walked its breast to save, 

Was near when the sailor died !" 

She saw the mother lay her child 

To rest, in its coffin bed — 
And brighter grew her eye, as the wild 

Grief broke o'er the waxen dead. 
For she caught the ray from the golden wing 

Of the angel as he passed 
With the soul of the sweet, seraphic thing 

That its earthly crust had cast ! 

And wherever the seed of sorrow fell 

She smiled with a brighter ray. 
For she knew the germ in that darken'd shell 

Sprang goodly fruit alway, — 
That the sunlight of pleasure dries the heart. 

And sterile makes its sod ; 
But chastening drops that in anguish start 

Are the streams that lead to God ! 



THE MOON'S JOUR NET. 37 

Oh, many a golden lesson she 

Inscribed on her silver page ; 
And many a quaint old homily, 

Taught her by Nature sage ! 
She learned from the trampled, bruised flower 

That had but a breath to live, 
Yet yielded its sweets in its dying hour — 

'Tis blessed to forgive ! 

And she learned from the little shoot that sprang 

A slender thread in the dew, 
Then budded and leafed, till its branches rang 

With a tune that is always new — 
That the veriest atom its fruit will bring. 

Each grain is with impulse rife — 
And little thing's are the germs whence spring 

The evil or good of life. 

Oh, here a voice and there a breath 

Came up from the brown old earth, 
Whispering the secrets of Life and Death 

And holier spirit birth ! 
And ever her brow with more glory shone, 

While her cheek with awe grew white, 
As she listed the cadences 'round her throne 

Chiming deep thro' the solemn night ! 
4 



38 LENA LEE. 



LENA LEE. 

HAST thou seen the merry bee, 
When the floweret dozes. 
Humming gayly o'er the lea 

Kissing up the roses ? 
Hast thou heard the tuneful breeze. 

While the day reposes, 
Sigh soft music thro' the trees, 

Like rhymes with sweetest closes ? 
Then thou'st seen my Lena Lee- 
Tuneful breeze, and busy bee ! 

Hast thou mark'd the roving bird 

Bending o'er the blossom 
With the same soft, witching word 

That's thrilled another's bosom ? — 
Hast thou watch'd the flirting wind 

Kiss the dimpling lakelet. 
Then whisper to the tendrils twined 

In the leafy brakelet ? 

Roving bird — my Lena Lee — 
Whisp'ring, flirting wind, is she. 

Didst ever note the changing moon 

Flushing red, then paling, 
When the fiery sighs of June 

Pierce her silver veiling ? 
Hast thou mark'd the blushes bright 

On the playful billow, 



HOPE, 39 



When the sunset's eyes of light 
Glitter thro' the willow ? 

Changing moon — my Lena Lee — 
Blushing billow, bounding free ! 

Hast thou seen the angler sit 

Where in streamlet flowing 
Silver perch and sunfish flit, 

As the tide is going? 
Hast thou mark'd his coaxing bait 

Flung to catch a nibble — 
And the wily fish still grate 

Low down o'er the pebble ? 

Angler, w^ith the bait — poor me ! 
Golden sunfish — Lena Lee ! 



HOPE. 



SONGSTER ! that trills a soft lay— 
A matin in life's morning hours — 
And tells of the splendors that wait the fair day, 
Shining glorious in manhood's far bowers ! 

Syren ! that strings a wild lyre 

O'er the far-sweeping billows of time — 

And sings of a name ringing higher and higher 
In fame's thrilling anthem sublime ! 

Seraph ! that bends o'er the tomb, 

And murmurs of error forgiven — 
Of flowers perennial adorning its gloom, 

And gently points upward to heaven ! 



^O THE RAINT DAT. 



THE RAINY DAY. 

THERE Is a wail in the wind's low sough, 
And a moan that the sea hath made ; 
The morn has a black band over her brow, 
For the sun in his shroud is laid. 

Oh put his golden curls away 

'Neath the cloud-scarf fringed with white, 
And sit by his bier and weep, O Day ! 

And waves, at the piteous sight, 

Hide all your treasures in the sands — 

For he cannot see the shells 
You've brought in your jewel-girdled hands 

From the crimson coral cells. 

And drop the leaf-veil over the heart 
Of the rose, for her love is dead ; 

She sits in her widowhood apart, . 
With the thorny crown on her head — 

And cannot read the message sweet, 

That the velvet leaves unfold. 
Which the little pansy lays at her feet 

In purple, blue and gold ! 

And watch the lily while she bends 

Her pale cheek over the brook. 
And stooping lower, lower, sends 

A sadly-searching look 



THE RAINY DAT. 41 

For the one bright face, that ever gave 

Her answering glances sweet 
From the blue mirror of the wave — 

And is now in its winding sheet. 

Oh, watch her well, for the weight of tears 

Bows down her beautiful head. 
As the tramp of the mourning rain she hears, 

And knows that her sweetheart's dead. 

And, " Come, come, come," says the tempting brook ; 

" We will wander out to the sea, 
And down in the amber caverns look 

For the eyes so dear to thee ! 

" I knew, last night, as his golden boat 
Went out at the twilight bars. 
And I saw the ghostly mist-shapes float 
Over the pallid stars — 

" That the morn would rise from a troubled sleep 
To a legacy of tears ; 
For that boat went down to a stormy deep, 
And the wind its requiem bears ! 

" But, come, come, come, we will wander where 
The billows sparkle up 
To fill with nectar, rich and rare. 
Thy creamy porcelain cup ; 

" And pledge thy sweetheart 'neath the waves ; 

We will meet him there to-night. 

As he seeks the flaming opal caves 

With his ringlets streaming bright. 
4* 



42 THE RAINT DAT. 

" He is not dead ; he is hid away, 
To shun the pleading eyes 
Of his old love, weary-hearted Day, 
Plodding the pathless skies. 

" And he longs to kiss the pearly rim 
Of the chalice, to your name ; 
Oh we'll fill, fill high to the golden brim. 
If we find him still the same !" 

Oh watch her well, for tear-drops bead 
Her lids with a weight of pain. 

As she hears the hollow sigh of the reed 
And the tramp of the mourning rain. 

O heart, bowled down with a tearful woe. 

How like to the lily thou — 
Listing a brook with a wily flow 

Singing, murmuring now, 

" Come, come, come, there is rest for thee 
In oblivion's dreamy cave — 
Over the tide of Life's rough sea 
Oh seek the placid wave !" 

How like to the mourning rose, obscure 
'Neath grief's all-clouded sky — 

No eyes for the golden lessons pure 
That at thy feet may lie. 

Oh up from the depths ! shake off the rain 

Of slowlj^-dropping sorrow ; 
Or bravely bear its weight of pain — 

For the sun may shine to-morrow ! 



THT MEMORT. 43 



THY MEMORY. 

THERE is a green spot in the waste, 
Tlie desert drear of Life — for me ; 
A sunbeam in each shady place — 
It is thy memory ! 

There is a lone star struggling thro' 

The darkness, that envelops me 
And shuts out Heaven's kind eyes of blue — 
It is thy memory ! 

There is a beacon beaming bright 
As lighthouse lamp o'er surging sea, 

For me — thro' sorrow's stormy night — 
, It is thy memory. 

There is a steady flame that burns 

Where distance shuts cold gate on thee, 
Which fell Despair's chill breath ne'er turns- 
It is thy memory ! 

There is a priceless gem which glows 

In Grief's dark mine all radiantly, 
Till all the gloom with glory flows — 
It is thy memory ! 

There is a voice, with cheering tone, 
That's ever fondly whispering me, 
"We'll meet again !" Till then, mine own, 
I'll keep thy memory. 



44 WHITHER f 



WHITHER? 

WHITHER, Life, 
Swift current — densely freighted 
With barks, where joy and grief are strangely mated — 
O turbid, rushing stream, whither away? 
What ending is ordained thy April day, 

OLife? 

Whither, Heart- 
Compound of wTath and meekness. 
Angelic strength and erring mortal weakness — 
O human heart, where are thy pulses leading? 
Whither thy aim, and whence thy bitter bleeding, 

O Heart? 

Whither, Mind— 

Thou gleaming spark electric ! 
Sun, that illumes mortality's ecliptic ! — 
Whither, fine essence, w^ili thy perfume float. 
When in Death's gulf is moored our fragile boat, 

OMind? 

Whither, Soul, — 

In transient storms controlling 
The waves o'er Life's tempestuous ocean rolling — 
When the Great Captain bids us furl our sail. 
Where will your wing find rest, as swells that gale, 

OSoul? 

Whither? where? 

Life, Heart, Mind, Soul? — Oh ask not! 
Thy poor, weak, finite comprehension task not : — 



ECHO. 45 

Be sure that He who wills the sparrow's fall 
Will find a haven for each bark, where all 

Is fair ! 



ECHO. 



MOCKING fairy, tattling Sprite ! 
Where mak'st thou thy dwelling? 
Is earth thy home, or cloudlets bright, 
That thus, for aye, by day or night, 
What others say, thou'rt telling? 

We know that thou wert doomed to lie 

In hopeless love's embraces. 
Till thy frail form didst pine and die. 
And but thy voice was left to sigh 

In solitary places. 

Didst turn thy spirit's sweets to gall ? 

And is't revenge thou'rt seeking — 
By list'ning, mocking, telling all 
Which inortal lips may chance let fall 

When near thy dwelling speaking? 

A weary lot is thine, poor Sprite ! 

A tattler's doom, remember — 
Dwindles fair form to spectres quite. 
But leaves the tongue inflamed with spite, 

The only active member ! 



46 THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 



THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 

THE whisp'rings of the midnight hour ! 
The broken cadences 
That chime from every star-Ht tower 

Or float on every breeze, 
When noon of night with ebon key 

Unlocks her sheeted dead, 
Tombed in the vault of memory — 
The ghosts of pleasures fled : 
How dreamily, how tenderly, 

Upon the heart they fall. 
Like strains of some old melody 
We only half recall ! 

The anthems of the midnight hour ! 

The fingers stilled by day, 
That hold the heart-strings in their power 

And on them grandly play 
A thrilling sweep of chords, to blend 

With tones long passed away ; 
When angels thro' the darkness send 
Songs never heard by day \ — 
How gloriously, sublimely. 

From the blue heights they fall ; 
Like the paeans ever sounding from 
Some mighty waterfall ! 

The sermons of the midnight hour ! 

The voices from the mount, 
That tranquillize, with spirit power, 

The waters of the fount 



I 



THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 47 

Within each breast — that speak to each, 

And murmur, " Peace, be still !" 
The seraph voices clear, that teach 
Obedience to His will ! — 
How holily, impressively. 
Upon the soul they fall ; 
Like those grand strains old masters' hands 
Could from the harp-strings call ! 

The echoes of the midnight hour ! 

The sounds from long ago, 
That touch our bosom's rock of power 

And bid its waters flow ! 
The echoes from the far-off time — 

The songs of youth and spring, 
Ere Happiness had lost its chime 
Or Joy had found its wing. 

How mournfully, how vaguely. 
Those sweet, sad echoes fall ; 
Like the ghostly sounds old ruins give 
In answer to our call. 

The promises of midnight's hour ! 

The starry stretch of blue 
Where God has writ, " Tho' darkness lower, 

The day will burst anew ! 
So, from the midnight of the tomb. 

Glowing with new-born light, 
Thy soul will break the bonds of gloom, 
Triumphant o'er Death's night !" 
How eagerly, how hopefully 

We listen as they fall ; 
Like " the good tidings of great joy," 
Once said, " shall be for all !" 



48 FORGETFULNESS. 



FORGETFULNESS. 

MOTHER FAIRIE, boon I crave ! 
Lave me in the Lethean wave ; 
Bind my brow^ with poppy leaves, 
And lay me 'neath the primrose eaves, 
Pillowed on the violets ; 
Where the cooling, silvery jets 
Of a crystal fountain near 
Murmur softly on the ear. 
I would dream a pleasant dream, 
Could I stop the rushing stream 
Of saddest memory, this eve. 
With the mellow moon to weave 
Silver tissue in the grass ; 
And the wooing wind to pass 
Yon queenly dahlia's coronet, 
To kiss the lowly mignonette. 

I would tell how modest worth 
Needs no tinsel'd gaud of earth 
To adorn its loveliness — 
For the sweetest blooms that bless 
The mossy, green retreats of Flora 
With most fragrant, purest aura, 
Wear the least attractive hues — 
Hyacinths, steeped in the dews. 
Heliotropes and scented broom, 
Ambrosia-laden with perfume. 
Eglantine and sweet acacia, 
Have no colors to abash you 



FOR GE TFULNESS. 49 

Like the gaudy, scentless tulip, 

Or the china-aster's blue lip 

Where no perfumed breath e'er lingers ; 

And the golden ringed fingers 

Of the stately peony 

Ne'er were kissed by fragrancy, 

As is the calycanthus simple 

Peering 'neath its russet wimple. 

See yon flaunting hollyhock, 
Boldly glaring from its stalk — 
Would you place it in your bosom 
Sooner than this tender blossom 
Sending modest looks between 
Leafy folds of curtains green. 
Amethyst in emerald set — 
Dewy, glistening violet ? 

Ah ! I would forget a while 
Stony heart and hollow smile. 
Treacherous show of friendliness — • 
Lips that seenied born but to bless — 
Eyes of beauty, brow of light, 
That covered purpose dark as night. 
Come, oh come, Forgetfulness ! 
Bring poppy wreaths my brow to press, 
And lay me in the garden haunts, 
With their bright-wing'd habitants ; 
Let me dream a while that worth 
Shall acknowledged be on earth ; 
Let me gather buds as fair 
As the campac blossoms are 
That ope their sweets in Paradise ! 
Let me peer in the bright eyes 
5 D 



50 NOTHING NEW. 

Looking out from leaf and bower, 
And place each unpretending flower 
Where its sweets, thus brought to light. 
Will shame each gaudy stamen bright, 
That with a meretricious glare 
Flaunts gay petals to the air. 

I will dream that this may be, 

If the wreath you bring to me, 

Mother Fairie ! — Bind my brow 

With the crimson poppies' blow, 

That forgetfulness of ill 

May my heart with bright dreams fill. 



NOTHING NEW. 

THERE is nothing new under the sun. 
The preacher saith to the stars' amen ! 
The rivers unto the sea have run 
But to return again. 

And where it listeth the wild wind blows — 

Over the tropic belt rides forth — 
Unto the far south region goes, 
And back to the frozen north. 

The sun completes his fiery span. 

And still again in his circuit burns ; 
And faithfully the dust, called man. 
Unto the dust returns ! 



NOTHING NEW. 5 1 

Oh nothing new ! Oh nothing new ! 

But ah ! for us all, there is something old — 
Some starry moments, tho' may be few, 
Like pictures set in gold. 

They sparkle once, but not again — 

Only in visions of the night, 
Like bright-plumed birds, they sing a strain 
Of wild but lost delight : 

'Tis, " Oh for the smile on a sweet young face. 
And oh for the days that return no more, — 
For the shadowy foot-prints we faintly trace 
Upon that wave-wash'd shore !" 

Oh nothing new ! Oh nothing new ! 

There is nothing new can charm us now. 
When on the heart falls Time's mildew. 
His rust upon the brow. 

But something old ! Ah ! something old ! 

That we hide for aye from mortal eyes. 
As the miser does his cherished gold — 
Within our bosom lies ; 

That we turn to when the evil years, 

That bow the strong man down, draw nigh ; 
And the sun of Hope has set in tears 
Upon a darken'd sky. 

Oh something old ! an unspoken word, 

That thrilleth anew the fainting soul — 
Tho' loosened be the silver cord, 
And broken the golden bowl ! 



52 LOOKING IN THE FIRE. 



LOOKING IN THE FIRE. 

IN a robe of misty gray, 
Down the sunset river, 
Goes the weary boatman, Day, 

With a sigh and shiver ; 
For the red-eyed March, with gun 
And baying bloodhound, lingers 
The fading western hill upon. 
And blows his purple fingers. 

All along my chamber creep 

Dim and ghostly shadows. 
And the light has gone to sleep 

On the fog-stain'd meadows ; 
Sweeping thro' the leafless trees 

Comes the dark night nigher — 
But my soul feels none of these, 

Looking in the fire ! 

Looking in the fire, I see 

The shining pathway whither 
The sainted go — and lo ! to me 

A voice says, " Come up hither." 
And far away above the clouds 

My daring reach goes higher. 
Beyond the gloom that earth enshrouds- 

While looking in the fire. 

Gazing thro' the vistas bright 
At the City Golden— 



LOOKING IN THE FIRE. 53 

Jasper, topaz, chrysolite, 

Its foundations olden — 
And beside its Gates of Pearl 

Sit the watching Angels, 
On each base of sapphire, beryl, 

Writing blest evangels ! 

Neither sun nor moon there shine. 

For the glory brightens 
From the Throne — the Lamp Divine 

All the city lightens ! 
And the Tree of Life bends low 

To the Gracious Giver, 
Who set the Morning Star aglow 

Above the crystal river ! 

Piping loud, old March may blow 

His jubilant symphony. 
While silver-shod my soul doth go 

O'er streets of chalcedony ! 
And upon Night's viol Time 

May set the key-note higher — 
I harken a celestial chime, 

Looking in the fire. 

Winds may sweep this nether world. 

Tempests rave and rattle ; 
And the storm-fiend's flag unfurled 

Call aloud to battle. 
And the cold white moon may mount 

"The ashen cloud-rack higher — 
I only hear a silvery fount. 

Looking in the fire. 



5 «- 



54 MEMORT. 

When, O tardy boatman Day, 

Will thy white sail shiver 
In a wan and misty ray 

To row me o'er the river ? — 
To walk that shining, golden way, 

And draw me nigher, nigher 
Such radiant gates as gleam and play, 

When looking in the fire ! 



MEMORY. 



THERE is, on each heart's shelf, 
A treasured tome, filled with recordings brief- 
A volume opened only by one's self 
At many a folded leaf. 

Some pages lettered light, 
Traced by joy's pencil in fair childhood's years ; 
But these are few — for every one that's bright 

There's tenfold dim with tears ! 

A volume gray with mould — 
Where oft in turning some forgotten page. 
We shake the mildew from its surface old 

To read a lesson sage ! 

On many a leaf appears 
Dark records ; this we may not pause to doubt — 
Oh bless'd are they whose soft, repentant tears 

Blot such impressions out ! 



THE POET'S HOME. $$ 



THE POET'S HOME. 

THE insect dwells in her silken house, 
The polypus in its cell — 
A grassy bower has the wild field-mouse, 

And the oyster a pearly shell ; 
The butterfly's roof is of sweet rose leaves — 

The seal has a crystal dome ; 
And the swallow builds her nest in the eaves — 
But where is the Poet's home ? 

The eye cannot compass his wide domain ; 

'Tis spread to the outer bars 
Of the universe's circling plain, 

Rayed by the countless stars ! 
From lowest depths of the rolling sea 

To the firmament's jeweled dome — 
In the cavern's gloom, 'neath the greenwood tree. 

Behold the Poet's home ! 

A tissue web for her fairy eaves 

Has the patient spider spun — 
But, to gild his tower, the poet weaves 

The golden threads of the sun ! 
And makes of the rainbow a tinted woof 

And warp for his cunning loom. 
To fashion a richly-frescoed roof 

To cover his princely home ! 

The coral-worker, grain by grain. 
Has a solid structure wrought — 



56 THE POET'S HOME. 

But the sparkling waves of the Poet's brain 
Hold the mighty reefs of Thought 

That underlie the depths of Mind, 
And gleam 'neath the silvery foam 

With the grains of Beauty and Truth combined, 
The base of his precious home ! 

The hind and stag but the covert see 

As a shield from the hunter's ball ; 
But the Poet paints the greenwood tree, 

To hang on his Memory's wall ; 
And pictures the leafy emerald glade — 

The river's sparkling foam — 
The sunny beam and the sombre shade 

To deck his gorgeous home ! 

The shell-fish, in lethargic sleep. 

Sees not his tinted roof — 
But pearl and fire, in the " upper deep" 

( With the Poet's eyes aloof ) 
Gleam in the moony layers that lie 

Upon the azure dome. 
That rears its burnished rafters high 

Above the Poet's home. 

And not more sweet is the rosy sheet 

Of the butterfly's fragrant bed, 
Than the winged thoughts that glowingly meet, 

With perfume round them shed, 
When Poesy lights her nuptial torch 

Beneath her bridegroom's dome, 
And hangs her garland upon the couch 

In the Poet's sylvan home. 



HIS OWN WORKS. S7 

O'er Arctic skies the auroral arch 

Glitters with rockets red, 
To light the seal on his chilling march 

To his cheerless, icy bed ; 
But the shimmering sheen of the weird North-light, 

Hath not more flaming plume 
Than Inspiration's fires ignite 

To flash from the Poet's home ! 

The twit'ring bird 'neath the sheltering eaves 

Has woven her cozy nest — 
But Ms birdlings the poet-songster leaves 

In the hearts that love him best ! 
He drops his seeds in the wayside's weeds — 

His pearls in the ocean's foam — 
And finds, in their spring, meed for his needs, 

And in every heart a home ! 



HIS OWN WORKS. 

" What profit hath a man of all his labor which he taketh under 
the sun ?" — Ecclesiastes i. 3. 

AS well may ye ask what profit hath God 
For forming this beautiful world we see, 
With yon firmament fair, the stars' abode, 

And setting bounds to the rolling sea ! 
As types of His power do they not stand? 

And man (tho' last of His works) is great! 
And the promise to him is, " The fruits of his hand 
And /lis own works shall praise him in the gate." 



TO-MORROW. 



TO-MORROW. 



WHAT a world of gloom and glory, 
What a web of joy and sorrow, 
Night throws from her shuttle hoary 
In the loom that weaves the morrow ! 
Hopes for ever on the wing, 

To that Land of Promise flying — 
Shadowy fingers beckoning 

Where its honeyed fruit is lying. 

And a tangled skein we ever 

Give its willing hands to ravel — 
Good resolve and pure endeavor 
Still unto its portals travel ! 

Weakness ever whispering, " Wait, 

We from Time a day will borrow" — 
But, alas ! how oft " too late" 

The duty banished to the morrow ! 

Waiting, waiting for to-morrow, 

While to-day unheeded passes ; 
Always satisfied to borrow 
Futurity's prospective glasses. 
Thus we go, from youth to age, 
All unmindful of the present ; 
For the days " to come" engage 

Alike the pauper, prince and peasant. 

Ah ! that morrow for the many 

Ne'er may dawn upon Life's ocean — 



A CHILD SLEEPING. 59 

Scarce a bubble breaks, of any 
Rising in the wild commotion, 
But a life the tide still swells 

Onward to the glorious Giver, 
Where souls are crowned with asphodels 
Beside the great eternal River. 

Time's a linked chain of morrows 

Leading on to the Immortal ! 
And each day's well-battled sorrows 
Are our passports at that portal. 
The " to-day" alone is ours 

To temper joy and hallow sorrow, 
That we may wear a crown of flowers 

When Death's night breaks a glorious Morrow ! 



A CHILD SLEEPING. 

HE sleeps the sleep of childhood, 
The soft, balm-breathing sleep, 
That floats from out the wildwood 
Where buds their vigils keep — 

And falls as falls the dew-drop 

Upon the drowsy flower. 
Seeking its mossy leaf-prop 

In evening's starlit bower. 

The rosy sleep, that glowing 

With heavenly radiance seems — 



6o CONVALESCENT. 

With seraph music flowing, 
And angel-peopled dreams ! 



CONVALESCENT. 

THE surging fever-tide ebbs low, 
And softer pulses warm. 
Till on my cheek breaks health's bright glow, 
Like sunshine after storm ! 

For scorching fingers seared my brain, 

And branded deep my brow. 
And hotly held each throbbing vein, 

So mildly beating now — 

Till, ring'd with fire, my sleepless eyes 
With aching gaze, would pierce 

Some wondrous overarching skies 
Of a new universe. 

Myth-peopled, goblin- tenanted^ — 

No silver gleaming stars 
A. tender, tranquil radiance shed 

Between the glowing bars 

Of that red molten firmament ; 

But comets, at white heat, 
Across its brazen surface went 

With burning, blistering feet ! 



CONVALESCENT. 6 1 

And over arid wastes of sand, 

In the dim even-tide, 
The fierce simoon of Afric's land 

Would pestilential ride ; 

While in vast circles, round and round, 

Unceasing sailed my soul, 
Nearing, but reaching not, the bound 
• Of flame, that either pole 

Shot upward toward the zenith, where 

A meteoric host 
Seemed battling with the friends of air, 

And neither won nor lost. 

O weary soul ! O sleepless eyes ! 

What angel of the night 
Led thee where coolest shadow lies. 

And quenched the baleful light. 

And tuned anew sweet Nature's lyre ? — 

Till on my charmed ear 
An anthem from the feathery choir 

Seems softly floating near ; 

And whispering grasses murmur low, 

Fresh with the breath of woods 
Where humble-bees, buff'-coated, go 

In honey-laden broods ; 

And silver-sounding surf seems near, 

Complaining to the shore ; 
Till dreamy languor seals mine ear 

And steals mine eyelids o'er. 
6 



62 A THOUGHT. 

O ransomed soul ! freed from the dark 
Where fever-demons keep — 

Give morning praises with the lark, 
Thank God for health and sleep ! 



A THOUGHT. 

DEEP in the knotted meshes of my heart 
A shadovs^y thought lieth, 
And sometimes from the tangled web 'twill start 

When the eve sigheth ; 
'Tis of my very self a formless part 

That never dieth — 
But shape it I may not with all the art 
That my soul trieth. 

Like song-sprite, prisoned in the pearl sea-shell, 

It singeth ever 
A nameless melody, whose secret spell 

I fathom never. 
A strain that strives, like mighty ocean's swell. 

In vain endeavor 
To reach those purple isles where radiant dwell 

The bless'd, for ever ! 

'Tis blended with all things of beauty fair, 

An Omnipresence — 
The soul that gives the morning's dusky air 

Rejuvenescence — 



GOOD-NIGHT, 63 

The Maglan's cup, fill'd with a subtle, rare, 

Immortal essence — 
The Master Hand, that gives brown branches bare 

Full efflorescence ! ■ 

I know, that when, unstrung, life's golden bow 

Is loosed and aimless — 
This pulsing heart, so wildly throbbing now, 

Is silent, blameless — 
That, silver-shafted then, that thought will go, 

Untiring, tameless. 
Where the sweet, holy songs of seraphs flow — 

No longer nameless ! 



GOOD-NIGHT. 

THE Spirit of sleep is descending 
In vapory dream-light. 
Thro' star-beams and clouds softly wending- 
Good-night, love, good-night ! 

Good-night ! there's a lullaby humming 

In every breeze from the hill — 
A murm'ring refrain lightly coming 

From lakelet and silvery rill ; 
And off, where the wizard Eve heapeth 

Its dun pile of clouds (ashes gray 
On day's fading ember), there sleepeth 

Soft mist-shapes, that dreamingly say, 
Good-night, love, good-night ! 



64 FAITH. 

Good-night ! there's a drowsy-toned ripple 

Comes up thro' the scattered rose leaves, 
That are folding soft coverlets, triple, 

Beneath the oak's sheltering eaves. 
O'er yon fount, to its shelly bed bending, 

The moon, too, has j^illowed her cheek 
On the white arm the cloud is extending ; 

And sleepy stars wink as they speak. 
Good-night, love, good-night ! 



FAITH. 



OH come with me in the mellow light 
Of a young harvest moon. 
And I'll sing you a simple song to-night, 

To an old, familiar tune — 
A song that I learned ere I found a blight 

At the core of the ripening June, 
And the silver disk of my soul was bright 
As night's star-dial'd noon. 

For I've bared in my heart a treasured page 

That was hidden from sight away — 
You'd little dream 'mong the leaflets sage 

That one could breathe of May ; 
But I folded it down in the golden age 

When life was a summer's day. 
And not a war that Time can v^age 

Can make the record gray ! 



FAITH. e<, 

It is not years, oh no ! not years, 

That unHnk youth's trusting chain, 
Tho' we drain to the lees the cup of tears 

And the poison draught of pain — 
Some green spot 'mid the waste appears 

If the heart has a sunny vein, 
And the true soul still in life's winter hears 

Spring's promise-breathing strain. 

Then come with me ; I've a cozy crypt 

Far down in secret bowers 
Where buds may grow, and bees have sipp'd 

Not the sweets of the hidden flowers, 
Whose velvet petals all are tipp'd 

With the bloom of my morning hours. 
Which never a breath of despair has nipp'd, 

The' a storm-cloud round me lowers. 

But I only enter this charmed sphere 

When my spirit's light and free ; 
And shining ones sometimes draw near 

And walk its aisles with me, 
And point me out each anguish-tear 

On life's wayside dropp'd — to be 
The wholesome dew to nourish and rear 

Some fruit-dispensing tree ! 

And over the hedges wild, that screen 

This rosy solitude, 
A line is traced in starry sheen. 

Which I read when in the mood — 
A mystic sentence, that comes between 

The doubts that would intrude — ■ 
6 * E 



^^ FAITH. 

'Tis " the evidence of things unseen !" — 
And my soul says, " It is good !" 

Then sing with me ; oh sing the song 

Of the trusting time of Hfe ! 
When the haggard cares were hidden that throng 

The crow^ded mart of strife, 
Where boldly battles the giant. Wrong, 

'Gainst Truth's two-edged knife — 
For trumpet notes to it belong, 

With prophecy full rife ! 

Oh sing ! and ye'll see the sunshine burst 

From out the cloud-rack wild ; 
Sing ! and sweet flowers, that your heart once nursed 

When your golden summers smiled, 
Will lift their rosy faces, as erst 

Thou didst to tliy mother's mild — 
Have faith, such faith as was thine at first — 

The faith of a little child ! — 

The faith for whose sake hath the poet striven, 

In earth-encrusted gloom. 
To prove him heir to a crown God-given 

Beneath a jeweled dome ! — 
The faith that sees in the light of even 

The gates of the starry home, 
And the shining ladder from earth to heaven, 

Where angels go and come ! 



WHT IS ITf 67 



WHY IS IT? 

" Why is it that some seem fated, while others, not half so de- 
serving, pass on with more of this world's goods than their share — 
with no cares or afflictions to crush the heart — why is it ?" — Extract 
from a Letter. 

WHY was the sorrowing Hagar sent 
To tread Beersheba's wild ? 
As outcast from the patriarch's tent 

She clasp'd her sinless child, 
And called aloud, in her despair, 
" Let me not see him die !" 
Ah ! was it not her anguished prayer 
That drew the angel nigh ? 

Why was the Israelitish flock 

Led thro' the desert drear, 
To reach at last a barren rock 

With not a fountain near, 
Nor vine nor fig leaf from the sod, 

The arid sod, could grow? 
Ah ! was it not the smiting rod 

That bade the waters flow ? 

And when the Babylonian king 

His impious wrath did show 
To those who, at the sackbut's ring. 

Refused the knee to bow 
Unto the golden image — and 

Would slay them, in his ire ; 
Did not God's angel by them stand, 

And walk with them the fire ? 



6S WHT IS ITP 

We may not question His decree 

Who from the whirlwind spake 
To that poor son of misery, 

And bade him answer make — 
Saying, "Who darkeneth counsel by 

Words, without knowledge fraught?" 
Ah ! what seems ill to mortal eye, 

Hath often blessings wrought. 

'Tis not the sunshine and soft breeze 

Our life-boat's strength may test, 
Floating adown the tide of ease 

To royal port of rest — 
But, buffeting the thund'ring gale, 

Breasting the surges' roar. 
Well done, good bark, with tattered sail, 

If thou canst reach the shore ! 

Ltfe without trials P — Who would give 

The cares that make him wise. 
To be the useless drone that hives 

No honey as he flies? 
Why, Nature, in her mighty book. 

This wholesome truth still shows, 
That even the thistle's thorny crook 

Can blossom as the rose. 

And Night unfolds her glowing page 

For Faith's all-earnest eye 
To profit by the lesson sage, 

It may alone descry — 
That fortune's sun, like to the day. 

Hides many an orb of light. 



FRIENDSHIP. 69 

That never gleams upon life's way- 
Till sorrow's hallowing night ! 

Why is it that the bruised flower 

Is sweeter for the wound ? 
Why is it that the darkest hour 

Is nearest morning's round? 
Ah ! these are mysteries which God 

To solve, our soul invites — 
When done, we'll bless the chastening rod, 

And kiss the hand that smites ! 



FRIENDSHIP. 

" He is a happy man that hath no need of his friends." — Arab 
Proverb. 

OH, call it not friendship — the hollow professions 
That's made to your station, your wealth and 
your name ; 
That man's friends are " legion" who boasts of pos- 
sessions, 
Of titles, and lands, and a loud-ringing fame ! 
Ye'll prove it — as Time, to Eternity stealing, 

The clear-sighted eye of Experience lends — 
That that man is blest, beyond earthly revealing. 
Who can say that he never had need of his friends. 

Ah ! Friendship's a bird of most delicate feather, 
That plumes its soft wing in prosperity's ray — 



7o THE SONG SPIRIT. 

But when storms of adversity gloomily gather, 
The light-pinion'd warbler is off and away ! 
Oh count not on friendship in dark hour of trouble — 
The stream takes a turn where the jutting rock 
bends ; 
The least chilling breeze breaks the gay, painted 
bubble — 
Ah ! happy's the man who'th no need of his friends ! 

But why sound the warning so oft vainly spoken ? 

'Tis experience alone the sad lesson can teach ; 
For all w^ish to prove that those vows can be broken 

Before they'll believe — so, 'tis folly to preach. 
They'll hug the delusion that flatters their weakness, 

And follow the spectre wherever it wends ; 
So let them — the wise can but bow them with meek- 
ness, 

And pray they may 7iever have need of their 
friends ! 



I 



THE SONG SPIRIT. 

WING my way from my starry home. 
Where the moon-beams play and the zephyrs 
roam, 



As the golden jets from the sunset rill 
Ripple and flash o'er the western hill. 

Ye may catch my cadences on the breeze 
When its old-time music is thrilling the trees ; 



THE SONG SPIRIT. 71 

Harps of a thousand strings are there — 
Incantations of earth and air — 

And every rustling leaf has a tone 
So very like to my dreamy own, 

That I claim as my sylvan dwelling-place 
The greenwood's radiant halls of grace. 

And then on the deep, where the billows play 
New melodies ever from day to day, 

Ye may hear my voice, now low, now loud, 
Hum with the wave to the bendins: cloud — 



'& 



Or roar with the thunder-drums that beat 

The march of the storm, when wild winds meet 

To war on the plain of midnight black — 
And then, in the morning's golden track, 

I call to the lark that the night is done, 
Bidding her up to hail the sun ! 

My mournful numbers, low and clear, 
In December's wail for the dying year. 

Float o'er the snowy winding-sheet. 

And sob with the rain and the driving sleet ; 

Yet scarce hath the first bud kissed the May, 
Ere I fill the woodlands with warblings gay. 



72 THE SONG SPIRIT. 

And out of the rosy heart of June 
Awaken summer's sweet bridal tune. 

There's a drowning buzz on the drowsy air — 
I have roused the bee from his flowery lair ! 

There's a gush of song in the maple grove — 
I have sounded the key-note attuned to love ! 

And mine is the music that evermore 
Is hymning along the reedy shore, 

Where the wavelets scatter their diamond rain, 
And the pink-lipp'd shells sound a low refrain 

From old Ocean's tender symphonies, 
To blend with my ceaseless melodies. 

And saintly Night, from her cloister cell. 
Echoes my psalms in their choral swell — • 

My deep hosannas, as they rise 

To the gilded dome of the far-ofl* skies, 

Where seraph harpists catch the strains, 
And golden lyres, on celestial plains. 

Reverberate thro' rolling spheres. 
The grand old anthem of the years ! 

Till Lyra tunes her harp anew. 
And every orb that gilds the blue, 



ZOE. 73 

Sends paeans back, with sweet accord, 
Of " Holy, holy, holy Lord !" 



ZOE. 



GONE to rest ! 
As some pale light in the golden West 
Melts in the flood of glory there, 

So hath fled 
The soul of her, whom we call dead, 

She of the sunny hair ! 
Her earth-light faded away, away, 
To lose itself in the shining day 
That knows not night or care. 

Sweet wild flower ! 
Fragile bloom of a tropic hour, 
Folding all its beauteous leaves 

When the dark 
Lighted the glow-worm's tiny spark 

Under the lily-eaves ! 

I dreamed that the Flower Sprite came down 
And wanted buds for an Angel's crown — 
Crimson banners and purple wings 
Fluttered over the fairy rings 

In the garden shade. 

Where peonies play'd 
And golden-coated butterflies stray'd ; 
7 



74 ^^ GNANIMITT. 

And down in the hollows the yellow eyes 
Of marigolds look'd a glad surprise — ' 
And dewy mirrors glistened where 
Soft winds comb'd the aster's beautiful hair — 

But — ah me ! 
Not of these could the bright crown be ; 
Past them all the spirit flew, 
To pluck from our darling's tender eyes 
The light of stars in cloudless skies, 

The dreamy hue 

And deep'ning blue 
Of the nestling hare-bells looking thro' — 
And to bear off the peach-blossom's velvet leaf. 
That lay on her cheek in slumber brief; 
And the crimson heart of the wild musk-rose. 
That puls'd her lips in fragrant throes ; 
And the beaded moisture of her breath, 
To coat each bud with a crystal sheath — 
All these he gathered, the envious Sprite 
(Alas ! 'twas more than a dream of night). 
And entered with them the golden gate, 
And left our garden desolate ! 



MAGNANIMITY. 

WHEN Summer's gilt index 
Has circled the hours, 
And told o'er the moments 
On dials of flowers — 



MAGNANIMITY. 75 

And Spring, dying early, 

Bequeaths her, in tears, 
All April's sweet nurslings 

To rear as her heirs ; 
When close her charm'd girdle 

She clasps round the earth — 
Which, like cestus of Venus, 

Gives loveliness birth — 
What wonder that beauty 

And grace should appear. 
To crown with their glory 

The queen of the year? 

But when from his ice-girdled 

Fastness, rides forth 
The hoary old monarch 

That ruleth the North— 
And not a gold king-cup 

That pledged the sweet May, 
But has hidden its chalice 

'Neath brown leaves away — 
It is then, when all nature 

Is barren and sear. 
That the meek little snow-drop's 

White bell, ringing clear 
( To the ear tuned to hear it). 

With silver tongue says, 
' I keep my sweet music 

To cheer the dark days !" 

It is true, that the red rose 
Will blush when gay June 



L 



7^ MA GNANIMITT. 

Is singing her praises 

In many a soft tune ; 
And princely young Daffodil 

Loveth dear May, 
Whose hands 'mid his yellow curls 

Timidly stray ; 
And Daisy has dreamed 

O'er the bright golden ring 
She got from the rover, 

The green-coated Spring ; 
And Sweet-William smiles 

When soft zephyr is near, 
And sings the low ditty 

He best loves to hear ; 

And Lily will bend her 

Pale cheek to the kiss 
Of the fountain that murmurs, 

" None fairer than this !" 
But they, like their prototype, 

Man, do but give 
Love for love, as the Publican — 

Selfishly live. 
" For if ye love them that 

Love you, what reward 
Will ye have ?" says the Book 

Ye profess to regard — 
Ah ! would ye be like to 

Your Father in heaven. 
Return good for evil — 

Put out the old leaven ! 

For he is untrue to 
The angel within, 



MAGNANIMITY. 77 

Unworthy the crown 'tis 

His birth-right to win, 
Who nurses the asp of 

Revenge in his breast 
To gnaw at his happiness — 

Rob him of rest ! 
Brood not o'er the wrong 

Ye have met in the strife — 
If ye sHght it, ye've learned 

A good lesson in life ; 
Turn another bright page 

And forgive, would ye know 
The joy that is purest 

Above or below ! 

And like the wee snow-drop 

That singeth her tune 
To bleak winds, as tho' they were 

Breathing of June — 
Greet thou icy neglect 

With a song as she goes, 
And you'll not feel the chill 

Of her merciless snows. 
E'en Enmity's winter 

May circle you round, 
If the sweet bud of kindliness 

With you is found. 
No storm from that quarter 

Can break your repose — 
And 'mong your heart's flowers 

You'll not miss the rose ! 



7* 



7S AFTER DARKNESS COMES THE MORNING. 



"AFTER THE DARKNESS COMES THE 
MORNING." 

UP from the depths of a brooding sorrow, 
Soul, arise, and arm anew ! 
So, from the night's dark side, the morrow 
Bounds with a smile o'er the trackless blue. 

Sit not drooping with folded pinions — 
Up ! and plume for a higher flight ; 

Pass, with a sweep, to the stars' dominions 
Up from the gloom of Despair's dark night ! 

Life is just what we choose to make it ; 

Joy or sorrow, pleasure, pain. 
Each its mark makes, as we take it — 

Hug it close, you'll its stamp retain. 

Oh, then, treasure the joyful only. 

Lay the sad with the day to rest, 
With eve's pale star for a headstone lonely, 

To mark its grave in the fading West. 

And, free from care as the lark — that, scorning 
Sadness, sings as it mounts from the sod, 
" After the darkness comes the morning" — 
Up, O soul, and trust to God ! 



THE PRINCE OF WOOERS. 79 



TH;E PRINCE OF WOOERS. 

A ROYAL wooer is the Wind ! 
He comes from his palace of pearl and fire 
Thro' the morning gates, where the mist-shapes bind 

A silver wreath on the day's gold spire — • 
He comes from roving in Araby, 

And brings me sweets from that blest strand, 
And spicy odors from Indian sea, 

And dewy gems from the far cloud-land. 

He kisses my cheek, and leaves the stain 

Of the rose's lips that he press'd last night — 
He fans my brow, and the fever-pain 

Is stilled beneath his breathing light ; 
I almost hear the waves at play. 

As he whispers low of a reedy shore ; 
And I catch a scent of new-mown hay 

As he tells of the meadows he's wandered o'er. 

A golden woof in the web of dreams 

I weave, as he gently toys with my hair — 
I seem to stand by those mystic streams 

Where light is born of light, mid-air ; 
And over a sea prismatic start 

The diamond shafts of each gorgeous ray, 
Till every quivering, changing part 

Is blended in all-perfect day ! 

He tells me tales of Fairy-land, 

Of elves and fays in the acorn bowers 



So THE PRINCE OF WOOERS. 

Where he waved at eve his magic wand, 

And pilfered the perfume of slumb'ring flowers. 

But he murmurs oft, in a softer tone, 

Of the pale cheek'd moon that he left in her shroud. 

With none to list his prayerful moan 
But the leaden-eyed and tearful cloud. 

And then he sings a dirge-like strain, 

Tho' a harvest song, to a saddened tune. 
That blends with the chime of the yellow grain 

Tolling the age of the dead young June. 
But I tremble when in his wrath he tells 

Of the mountain waves that come at his call. 
When the mighty heart of Ocean swells 

And the giant strides from his Amber Hall. 

I love him best when I weary wait 

In the moonlit aisles of sleep, and moan 
While my soul lies down at the trembling gate, 

But cannot cross the threshold stone — 
Oh then he comes, with an angel's wing, 

To waft me on to the Isle of Rest, 
Singing the song that seraphs sing — 

*Tis then, 'tis then, that I love him best ! 

His voice has a music unto mine ear, 

An undertone, maybe lost to thee — 
For it is only the charm'd ones hear 

The sweet old ditties he sings to me. 
But this Prince of Wooers is all mine own, 

Tho' he roams the world and sings in each bower, 
Yet he keeps for me his tenderest tone. 

And I give him my heart's perennial flower ! 



GARLANDS. 8 1 



GARLANDS. 



ROSES, red roses are 
Tempting my fingers- 
Scarlet auriculas, 

Purple syringas — 
Crimson japonicas, 

Pearl-cheek'd camellias, 
Yellow laburnums, and 

Ruby-lipp'd dahlias ; 
ril bind me a coronet, 

Regal and royal, 
Of these for the brow of 

The true and the loyal ! 

Then for the conqueror, 

Laurel and holly — 
Poppies for him steep'd in 

Deep melancholy ; 
For all who foul slander's 

Dark waters unsettle, 
I'll pluck fell lobelia. 

Night-shade and nettle, 
Hemlock and hellebore. 

Rank aconitum. 
For tongues that can venom 

Distill ad-libitu7n I 

Dancing young blue-bells I'll 
Cull for the cheery ones — 

Flowering almonds for 

Hopeless and weary ones — 
F 



GARLANDS. 

Pansies, to strew where the 

Night-dews are weeping 
O'er the green mound where some 

Loved one lies sleeping — 
Faithful " forget-me-nots," 

Green arbor-vitae, 
To tell, as time passes, 

Remembrance grows brighter. 

Then the meek lilies that 

Bloom in the valley 
I'll twine where contentment 

Best loveth to dally ; 
And with them sweet daisy 

And daffodowndilly, 
That crouched 'neath the hedge 

In their frost mantles chilly 
When wild winds went wailing 

Their sorrowful dirges, 
And ocean kept time with 

His dead-march of surges. 

Oh, thanks for your casket 

Of jewels, fair Flora ! 
I kneel in your parterre 

An humble adorer, 
Not crown'd with your bay-wreath- 

The ivy that's clinging 
Around me is sapping 

The life whence 'tis springing — 
But thanks, that I gather 

Such garlands as these, 
If within them I find but 

A leaf of " heart' s-ease 1" 



APRIL, 83 



APRIL. 

" If a man die, shall he live again ?" 

THE dying March, with a stifled sigh, 
Kissed the young April's brow — 
" Go forth ! fair Sprite of the tearful eye," 
He said — " 'tis thy mission now, 
With the smile of faith, to unseal the tomb 

Of each slumb'ring bud and grain ; 
That man may see, in their risen bloom, 
" Tho' he die he shall live again !" 

If a man die, shall he live ag-ain ? — 

Hark ! as a thousand tones, 
From mountain, valley, hill-side, plain. 

The truthful answer owns. 
A voice floats up with the fountain's play, 

Loos'd from the ice-kino-'s reig-n — 
Saying, " Death's night hath pass'd away, 

I'm free, I live again !" 



The daisy's gentle glances light. 

On its resurrection morn. 
Where the snowy garments flutter bright, 

Of the sweetly flowering thorn ; 
And each with sighs of perfume greet 

The gentle April rain. 
That opes their lids with kisses sweet. 

Bidding them live again ! 



84 APRIL. 

If a man die, shall he live again ? 

List ! comes there not a sound 
From the acorns and the bm*ied grain 

In their graves in the dark ground ? 
For see — the quickening germs have sprung 

To the surface of the plain, 
To take their places earth's hosts among, 

Saying, " We live again !" 

Shall earth in her brown bosom nurse 

Blest immortality 
For flow^er and fruit — yet man so curse 

That a partaker he 
May be not ? — Perish the thought ! — A voice 

Sings in each heart one strain ; 
'Tis Nature's, bidding man rejoice ! 

Telling, " He'll live again !" 

If a man die, shall he live again ? 

Ah ! trust the secret sense 
That v^hispers thee — sin, sorrow^, pain, 

Shall cease when we go hence ; 
That death is no December night 

Dark'ning life's every gain — 
But April's sunny smile of light, 

Bidding us live again ! 



STORM. 



STORM. 

A FLYING moon in a scarf of white 
Is driving the mists along ; 
Tiie witch-ehTis wave in the ghostly light 

To the thunder's muttering song, 
And over the hollow arch of night 
The sheeted lightnings throng. 
But sing, sing lullaby, 
Skies weep and wild winds sigh 

Over the rocking earth ! 
Lullaby, lullaby, 
Calms come when tempests fly. 
Clouds give the rainbow birth ! 

I knew a heart where pleasure made 

For itself a golden nest — 
And all day long, like a sunny glade 

That a rain-drop never press'd. 
The verdure sickened for want of shade 
Till a desert grew that breast. 

But storm, storm came one night. 
Wild floods put out the light, 

Steeping the arid sod i 
Then came a fresher morn — 
Lo ! of its tear-drops born, 

Sweet flowers look'd up to God ! 

Oh, the sunlight is a joyous thing. 
But the sun may shine too long ; 

For the earth, like the heart, needs chastening 
To purge it of ancient wrong : 
8 



S6 FORGET ME NOT. 

And shine and shade in turn must sing, 
To make harmonious song ! 
Ring, ring, ye thunder bells, 
Sing, sing, ye sounding shells, 

Over the roaring sea ; 
Winds, pipe your loudest strain — 
Sweet calms must come again. 
And earth the brighter be ! 



FORGET ME NOT. 

Written on finding a blue " forget-me-not" pressed within the leaves 
of a book belonging to a deceased friend. 

FLOWER of the blue eye's tender beaming ! 
What sweet, pale face met thy last life-gleaming ? 
What tender orbs of thine own soft hue, 
Gazed into thy chalice of morning dew — 
What rosy lips sipped the moisture up 
As they kissed the brim of thy golden cup? 
Ah ! to fade and die hath been their lot — 
Like unto thine, forget-me-not. 

The cold, white stone is laid on that brow, 

As this snowy page press'd thee ere now ; 

And mould has gathered o'er those eyes. 

Like the dust that on thy soft leaf lies ; 

From her lip and thy bosom the dewy spray 

Has passed with' thy tender lives away — 

But her spirit voice, pale flower, thou'st got, 

And my soul hears it murm'ring, " Forget me not !" 



M 



DREAMING. %"] 



DREAMING. 



Y soul is dreaming to-night, Nellie, 
Dreaming under the stars — 



And a wondrous strain of delight, Nellie, 
Floats down thro' the silver bars ; 

And over the grand old sea afar 
There cometh the solemn calls 

Of deep unto deep — and the echoes 
Of musical waterfalls. 

Red were the eyes of day, Nellie, 

Red, as she went to rest ; 
For she laid sweet summer away, Nellie, 

With a faded rose on her breast. 
And folded her up in a fleec}^ mist — 

While his crown of gold to hide. 
The kingly sun sank, mourning 

His beautiful, lost young bride. 

But not of that crown of gold, Nellie, 

And not of the summer gone. 
Do I dream, in the starlight old, Nellie, 

And catch the monotone 
Of silvery dropping founts and rills. 

Like those enchanted streams 
That spake to the fairy — yea, I hear 

Them whisp'ring in my dreams ! 

From the mountain's purple heart, Nellie, 
Cometh a gladsome voice. 



88 DREAMING, 

Where mighty rivers start, Nellie, 

Saying, Rejoice ! rejoice ! 
And the pulsing arteries leap and run 

To the great broad arms of the sea 
Singing the song of Life ! — Do you hear 

The "wonderful melody?" 

You tell me I but dream, Nellie-^ 

And what is life but a dream ? 
To some, less tangible, my Nellie, 

Than yonder singing stream. 
But ah ! 'tis much to live, tho' life 

May be not what it seems. 
And we be only " made of such stuff 

As dreams," my Nellie, dreams ! 

Much, much might the dreamer tell, Nellie, 

Of the real aim of life. 
Were his tones not drown'd in the swell, Nellie, 

The harsher roar of strife — 
For every leaf in the forest glade. 

Each blade of grass by the stream. 
Holds a psalm which he reads by the mystical light 

That comes to him in a dream ! 

Creation's a beautiful dream, Nellie, 

Lighting an Infinite mind ! 
And Love-Divine is the theme, Nellie, 

That its spirit hath enshrined. 
And talking waters, and whispering trees, 

But echo the holy strain 
That floats for aye thro' the marvelous depths 

Of the Omniscient brain ! 



WB MISS THEE. 89 

Then leave me to my dreams, Nellie, 

My soul hath a lesson to learn 
From the wonderful singing streams, Nellie, 

That man in his pride would spurn. 
I love to read great Nature's book 

By the light of the shining stars, 
And hearken the w^ondrous melody 

Floatins: down thro' the silver bars ! 



WE MISS THEE! 

WE miss thee in the morning 
And in the evening hour — 
Our daily paths are desolate 

Without our household flower, 
Our pure and spotless lily 

That gave its sweetest bloom 
To grace the fireside circle 

In the sacred wreath of Home ! 

But in that land where sorrow 

And parting are unknown. 
Another angel standeth 

Beside the great White Throne ! 
And while we bow in anguish 

Beneath the smiting rod — 
She softly whispers — " Weep not. 

It is the hand of God !" 



90 THE SOUL'S HOPE. 



THE SOUL'S HOPE. 

O'ER the swiftly-flowing river 
Of our lives, there floats a haze 
Thro' whose veil the dim " Forever" 

Comes in visions to our gaze — 
Comes in visions of the twilight, shadowing out our 
future days 
In the land of the Immortal, 
When the Spirit at Death's portal 
Sings its last of earthly lays ! 

Like an eve of tropic splendor, 

Where the dew in silver showers 
Drops, from moonlit fountains tender, 

On the brows of sleeping flowers, 
Wak'ning fragrance as it slumbers in the starry jasmine 
bowers — 

Comes this twilight calm, distilling 

Perfume from our souls, and filling 
Full of hope our mortal hours. 

While the tidal waves of feeling 

And the surging seas of crime 
Bear us earthward, still come (stealing 

Like the echoes of a chime) 
Dreamy whispers of a heritage so holy and sublime, 

That the Spirit's folded pinions 

Seek escape to those dominions 
From the leashes laid bv time. 



THE SOWS HOPE. 9 1 

There — beyond the sparkling reaches, 

Dimmed by Saturn, fired by Mars — 
Our inner vision boldly stretches 

Outward, o'er its finite bars. 
Far beyond the farthest limits of the constellated stars — 

Upward, where the iridescent 

Brightness of the Omnipresent 
Pales the glory of the stars ! 

And, with an immortal longing, 

Look we thro' the radiant line 
Where the white-winged hosts are thronging— 

And we see the glittering shine 
Of their waving pinions, gleaming o'er us as they loving 
twine 

When a good deed is recorded. 

And the doer is awarded 
One claim more to realms divine ! 

Body, perishing twin brother 

Of a deathless Soul ! — why tempt 
With thy poor pottage so the other 

That its higher hope's besprent. 
With the anguish-droppings glittering when the angels' 
hearts are rent 

To see a mortal sell his dower. 

His heavenly birthright, for one hour 
In vain earthly pleasures spent? 

Soul ! white doveling, downward driven 

From the radiant silver cot — 
Seek some branch, by Seraph riven 

From the Tree whose leaves fade not. 



92 THE NEW TEAR. 

And sent earthward for the shelter of those blrdhngs, 
whose sad lot, 

Exiled from their spirit bowers, 

'Tis to pine in realms like ours, 
Caged in flesh, and death, and rot ! 

O'er the stellar heights are streaming, 

Up among the sunset hills, 
Beacons, on the road-side beaming, 

Safe to guide thee through all ills ; 
And along the golden pathway that the glowing ether 
fills, 

Walk sweet Holiness and Faith, 

Through the sombre gate of Death 
Him to pilot, who so wills ! 



THE NEW YEAR. 

LAY the dead old year away, 
Toll the bell and heap the clay, 
And leave it in its winding sheet 
Where ghosts of joys in graveyards meet. 

Many an idol turned to clay 
By its side must mouldering lay — 
Many a rifted leaf of trust 
Will mingle with its silent dust, 

And dearer buds of love and bloom 
Will wither with it in the tomb — 



THE NEW TEAR. 93 

Not alone the gray old year 
Lies upon its icy bier ! 

But the gate is closed upon 
The fading spectres, one by one, 
And pale Remembrance dries her tear 
As laughing comes the glad New Year ! 

Like a bride on wedding morn, 
Snowy wreaths her brow adorn, 
And old Winter's diamond zone 
Is reset for the favored one. 

Hope Is whispering again 

In her ear the same old strain ; 

Pointing to the birds of spring. 

But telling not they're on the wing — 

Painting Summer's roses fair. 
But not the thorns that hide them there — 
And on Autumn's withered lip 
Laying a soft crimson tip. 

To hide the wrinkled seal of age. 
'Tis a bright, bewitching page 
Unsullied by a single tear. 
That meets the eye of the New Year. 

Unsuspicious let her go 
From May's bloom to December's snow ; 
Never cloud the brow of youth — 
Time will teach full soon the truth ! 



94 LOVE. 

When her hand plucks Pleasure's fruit 
And finds it ashes — be thou mute ; — 
With its dust she'll surely find 
Wisdom's precious grains combined. 

When Love's golden links she'd clasjD 
And sees them loosen in her grasp, 
The parting chain will lead her on 
The upward path it winds upon ! 

And every seedling she may sow 
Must sweet or bitter herbage grow — 
But all will bear the selfsame flower, 
Experience — 'tis a goodly dower ! 

Then leave her to her heritage — 
The lessons that will make her sage, 
And fit her for a higher birth 
Above the training-school of earth ; 

So may she join the thronging years. 
Wandering 'mid unnumbered spheres, 
And filling all the aisles of Time 
With teachings holy and sublime ! 



LOVE. 



A FITFUL light, whose luring flame 
We foolish moths pursue, 
Until a scorched and wingless frame 
Shows what a fire we woo ! 



BIRTH- DAT OF ROBERT BURNS. 95 



THE CENTENNIAL BIRTH-DAY OF RO- 
BERT BURNS. 

FORGET him not— the bard who trill'd 
A lay for Auld Lang Syne, 
And touched a chord whose tones have thrill'd 

Where'er Love's tendrils twine ; 
Who wrought for Age's " frosty pow," 

With song's sweet, silver flow, 
That halo that adorns it now — 
"John Anderson, my Joe !" 

And gave to immortality 

The modest daisy's name. 
Weaving for meek humility 

A never-dying fame ! — 
And sweetly told of lover's faith 

O'er Highland Mary's grave — 
Oh, honor him, for Poet saith 

The loving are the brave ! 

Shall he who sang the praise of Doon, 

And Devon's banks, and Clyde's, 
Not reap the myrtle's fadeless boon 

O'er Mississippi's tides? 
Yea, rolling seas have borne his songs, 

And sunny climes have heard, 
And to all lands his fame belongs 

Where thrills an English word. 



All, all must own the magic spell 
Of each old melody — 



9^ BIRTH-DAY OF ROBERT BURNS. 

For childhood's pitying heart will swell 

At Mallie's Elegy ; 
And maid, whose sire for worldly store 

Would barter her away, 
Grows pale when warbling sadly o'er 

The suit of Robin Gray. 

E'en soldier lips will wreath a smile 

For him, whose cheery fancy 
Brings back again the banks o' Coil 

And some sweet, witching Nancy. 
And graver wights to mirth give way 

While following Tam O'Shanter 
By haunted auld Kirk AUoway, 

As he frae Ayr did canter. 

And many a heart, in which still sings 

In whispers, low and deep. 
The angel — tho' its prisoned wings 

Seem furled in dreamless sleep — 
Flutters with inborn, pure delight, 

Above the simple page 
That stamps the humble Cotter's Night 

With precepts holy, sage ! 

Then fill a " cup o' kindness" to 

The memory of Burns — 
Tho' Caledonian breezes blow 

Where flowery heath inurns 
Sweet Nature's Child ! — Ay, stretch the hand 

Of fellowship sincere. 
Across the wave to Scotia's land 

And wreathe his honored bier ! 
New Orleans, Jaiwary 25, 1859. 



A-MATING. 97 



A-MAYING 



SING, O heart ! for a low, sweet strain 
The wind-harp's softly playing ; 
The lily bells ring a chime again — 
O heart, we'll go a-Maying ! 

We will not pause to seek a thorn 
Where a bud of hope is peeping ; 

Nor watch o'er the sun-illumin'd lawn 
The stealthy shadow creeping. 

But while the sparkling sands of Day, 

So radiantly golden. 
Fall from her crystal glass — our May 

We'll keep, as in times olden. 

When every harebell on the heath. 

Or daisy in the dingle, 
Had some sweet message in its breath 

With our young hopes to mingle ; 

When Nature op'd to us her heart. 

And from its tinted pages 
Some wondrous lessons would impart, 

Undreamed of by the sages. 

Oh yes, we'll keep a bright May-day — 

And should we fail to gather 
Dear buds of promise on the way, 

But flowers of feeling, rather — 
G 



98 WHT ART THOU SAD P 

We'll read the precious leaflets o'er, 

Our later May adorning 
With such a page of tender lore 

As we found not in life's morning — 

Until, O heart, a flood of song 

Thou'lt send where the leaves are playing ; 
Then come from the gloom where spectres throng, 

Poor heart — and go a-Maying. 



A QUESTION. 

" Why art thou sad ?" 

OH never ask why tears oft start 
And from the cheek blot out the rose ; 
There is a page within the heart, 

A careless hand may ne'er unclose — 
Writ in the pictur'd " long ago," 

And only read thro' Memory's glass 
When lengthening shadows come and go, 

As hopes, long buried, dimly pass 
Along the vista'd light that streams 

Down the worn path where plod the years — 
The misty shapes, that filled our dreams 

Ere we had drunk the cup of tears ! 
And when upon this leaf we gaze. 

See life's great loss — its meagre gain — 
What wonder Memory's gathering haze 

Should fall in sad Regret's wild rain ? 



Mr MOTHER'S PORTIA AIT. 99 



MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. 

SOFTLY the love-lighted eyes look down 
From the canvas, as look none other 
Upon me, with never the shade of a frown — 
Mother, my beautiful mother ! 

Goldenly brown fall the sunny curls 

On the peach}^ cheek's soft roses ; 
And the parted lips have the smile of a girl's 

When her heart's wealth she uncloses. 

Just the same eyes that kept watch and ward 
O'er my childhood's wayward fancies — 

Just the same lips that bade me guard 
Against youth's extravagancies ! 

All are there, save the loving tone 

Attuned to motherly sweetness : — 
Speak to me, speak ! mine own, mine own, 

And show me thy completeness ! 

Hushed — hushed — hushed ! The willow hath waved 

Long years in the summer even, 
And the searching wintry tempest braved, 

Since thou returned to heaven ! 

And cold, cold, cold are the voices now, 

And stony hard the faces 
That earth upturns — no mother's brow 

With its soft, expressive graces ; 



lOO MT MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. 

No mother's hand, with a gentle touch, 

To soothe world-weary anguish ; 
O stricken ones ! for such, for such. 

How vain do ye pine and languish. 

Pine for "mother love," pine for all 

That ye'll never find in another — 
Only a pictured face on the wall. 

Of mother, beautiful mother ! 

Beautiful eyes and lips and cheeks, 

Beautiful hair — and fingers 
Whose tender pressure your cold hand seeks 

In a dream that lovingly lingers ; 

In a rosy dream of your childhood's days. 

When those fond eyes watched your slumber ; 

And a mother's smile was your dearest praise, 
Her song, your sweetest number — 

Her knee, your shrine when you lisp'd the prayer 

In the softened light of even — 
Her arms your refuge in every care, 

Her face the star of your heaven ! 

Just such a face as now looks on me 
From the canvas, as looks none other, 

Tenderly thoughtful, and lovingly — 
Mother, my beautiful mother ! 



NIGHT. loi 



NIGHT. 



NIGHT o'er the hill-side, 
Night o'er the wold — 
Night, with her shining hair 

Wrapt in the fold 
Of a mist-veil, is telling 

Her rosary o'er 
Where the white foam-flake 

Is wreathing the shore — 
Where the young willow 
Bends low to the rover, 
The west wind, all fragrant 
With kissing the clover — 
Where the tares meet 

O'er the mossy head-stone 
That watches the sleeper 

Who never makes moan — 
Where the great heart 

Of the city is beating — 
Where on the green sward 

The fairies are greeting — 
Over the mountain-top, 

Over the wold. 
Counting her rosary 

Silver and gold. 
The Nun, Night, is doing 
Her penances old. 

Oh breathe me an Ave 
Most merciful Night ! 



I02 NIGHT. 



Like thee I am ever 

Pursuing the light, 
And counting my rosary's 

Bead-gems and crosses, 
Whose decades are numbered 

In bHsses and losses : 
Breathe me an Ave^ 

O holy-brow'd Night ! 
Earth and its palaces 

Fade from my sight — 
Only those mythic 

Air-temples arise. 
Whose shadowy towers 

Are lost in the skies ; 
While parting the veil 

Of the mystic " To-come," 
My soul is a-tremble, 

Awestricken and dumb — 
As wave after wave 

Of life's billows ebb low, 
Stranding each fallacy, 

Joy-dream or woe. 
Over the grave 

Of a dead w^orld I roam 
Homeless, yet seeking 

A far-vision'd home. 
Where the Spirit of Beauty 

Reigns ever a queen, 
And gilds the dark waters 

That still intervene — 
While helpless I wander 

The ghost-crowded shore. 



HALF-MAST. 1 03 

And reach for the gleam 

That recedes evermore. 
Oh breathe me an Ave^ 

Dear saint, in your cell — 
A soft Pater-noster^ 

Whose musical swell 
The sweet chords of Truth 

'Mongst my heart's strings shall test, 
'Till a star, like to Bethlehem's, 

Shines in my East, 
And a Gloria Patri 

Thrills in my breast ! 



HALF-MAST. 

DRIFTING out on the rising tide 
Of memory, away — 
And the gladsome waters laugh and lift 

Sweet kisses to the day. 
As the buoyant billows bear me back 
O'er childhood's sparkling bay. 

Oh, royal barks with silken sails 

I launched upon that sea ; 
How grandly loomed the distant shore. 

The fancy-wrought " To-be !" 
The phantom shapes that steered each helm 

Were hidden. all from me. 

I only saw thro' purpling haze 
The future's glowing strand ; 



I04 HALF-MAST, 

The shimmering prows by hope upheld 

Bearing me to the land — 
No rude gales lashed the rippling waves 

Or stirred the silver sand ; 

While tropic birds of thought would skim 

Across the waters bright, 
To warble of spice islands set 

In seas of liquid light, 
Of gardens of Hesperian fruit, 

The dragon out of sight ! 

My Argonautic fleet was bound 

Unto that Euxine Sea, 
Whose golden fleece still lured me on — 

But, ah ! I could not see 
The hosts of ill I must subdue, 

Springing, armed men, at me. 

For morning rosy made my East 
With flush of promise gay — 

How proudly from each spar I flung 
Out pennons to the day. 

As each bright bark of hope was launched 
Upon that sparkling bay. 

But, one by one, those barks went down ; 

Some in that summer sea — 
Some stranded on a barren beach — 

Some struggling manfully 
'Gainst wind and tide and whirling wave, 

So bravely, hopefully ; 



SPRING. 105 

To sink, at last, from weariness, 
When lashing storms were sped. — 

And now, but one poor battered hulk 
Remains, that fleet that led, 

With drooping colors at half-mast 
For those royal hopes all dead ! 



SPRING. 



J 'nr^IS the sly green-slippered Fay 

JL Thro' the woodland noiseless stealing 

Dropping wild-flowers by the way 

All this loving, sunny day, 

Her bright presence thus revealing ; 

And I far with her would flee. 

Like some honey-seeking bee, 

Hiving purer, sweeter store 

Than the cells of Hybla bore — 

Did I not, 'neath blossoms fair. 

See ghostly branches wan and bare ! 

Could I from my vision part 

The ray, that ever sees the shadow 
Stealing spectrally athwart 
The sunniest vistas of the heart 

In youth's hope-illumined meadow — 
Yonder thorn tree,, white with bloom. 
Would not gleam a ghastly tomb — 
That wild warbler would not sing 
" Bright I am, but on the wing" — 



lo6 SPRING. 

But, beneath the blooming tree, 

I'd trill with bird and hum with bee ! 

From the grass-enameled hill 
I would call unto the daisy, 
Whisper to the daffodil. 
Where the mist-inviting rill 

Makes the verdant valley hazy — 
Saying, " Pretty ones, arise ! 
Open all your golden eyes ; 
Crocus, with the yellow hair. 
Cowslips, from thy leafy lair. 
Up, and strew with sweets the way 
Of the blossom-girdled May ! 

" For the spring has come again. 

With her dainty fingers stringing 
All her gems of April rain, 
To glitter in the Iris train 

That the flower-sprites are bringing 
From the white gates of the morn, 

Where the perfume censers swing, 
Whose rich incense downward borne 

On the zephjT's viewless wing, 
Fills each little azure cup 
That the violets hold up. 

" And the young moon weds the eve 

With a silver ring so slender, 

That I fain would have you leave 

Your low, grassy beds, to weave 

Garlands for the bridal tender." — 
But round me swart shadows lie, 
Deep'ning as the years go by, 



''HIC JACET." 107 

Till my heart knows no more spring : 
Yet I'd have each bright-brow'd thing 
Happy, joyous in its May, 
Ere the radiance fades away ! 

Ah! the songster on the thorn 

Has no merry lay to sing me ; 
And the spring-time's leafy morn, 
Tho' with greenest promise born — 

Has no opening bud to bring me ; 
For the flower that crown'd my life 
Perished when the May was rife — 

And the Spring's sweet floral chimes 
Teach me but the mournful art 

Of twining simple wreaths of rhymes 
From the leaflets of my heart ! 



"HIC JACET." 

BURIED deep, " full fathom five," 
In an unmarked grave it lies — 
You would never find it, strive 

As you might with mortal eyes ; 
For the mournful years have paced. 

With their solemn steps and slow. 
Over it, and all erased 

The wild marks of long-ago. 

'Twas a simple, careless word. 
When at first it saw the light ; 



io8 "i//C JACBTr 

Many such may still be heard 

When the young moon woos the night. 

'Twas a word — but ah ! how fraught 
With good or ill, you'll never know ; 

Only soon a grave it sought 
Somewhere in the long-ago. 

Lowly grave — how long kept green 

With the secret tears of pride, 
Falling when the silver sheen 

Of the starlight's veil could hide. 
Now — 'tis covered with dead leaves — 

O'er it moss and lichens grow ; 
And on ghostliest of eves 

There roam shades of long-ago — 

Spectres from the misty shore, 

From whose livid lips one word 
Is repeated o'er and o'er, 

Faintly in the gloaming heard ; 
And upon the haunted tide 

Rushing memories ebb and flow, 
Wrecking many a bark of pride 

On that strand of long-ago. 

He is bless'd who never stands 

By some secret grave and sighs, 
And must wring no tell-tale hands, 

Breathe no audible " Here lies !" — 
But above his dead may weep 

Tears that give relief to woe. 
Where the loved ones fell asleep. 

In a peaceful long-ago. 



HOMELY HETTT GRAT. 1 09 

But for that unlettered mound 

Where a budding hope lies crush' d — 
Is it not unhallow'd ground, 

That no prayerful knee has brush'd? 
Lonely, flower-forsaken tomb, 

Not a healthful shrub may grow- 
Where, like mildew, hangs the gloom 

Of that fruitless long-ago ! 



HOMELY HETTY GRAY. 

HOMELY Hetty Gray ! 
Never beauty wooed her tresses. 
Touched her lip with soft caresses ; 
All the beauty of her nature 
Fled each inexpressive feature — 

Shunned the light of day — 
To illume the inner portal 
Of the soul ; a light immortal, 
Never to decay ! 

Sought ye Hetty Gray ? 
Not in lighted halls of pleasure, — 
Where, to music's jocund measure, 
Dancing feet and pulses beating, 
. Glances fond, fond glances meeting. 

Youth turned night to-day — 
Would ye find the little maiden ; 
But where want stalk'd, sorrow-laden. 

Should your footsteps stray, 
10 



1 1 o HO MEL r HE TTT GRA T. 

There, where wretchedness transmitted 
To its offspring, crime ! — unpitied 

In Life's cold affray — 
There — beside the fever'd pillow. 
Hand extended, from the billow 
Of despair, the sinking pauper 
To uphold from madness' torpor — 

Found ye Hetty Gray ! 

Homely Hetty Gray ! 
Whoe'er felt thy want of beauty. 
As thou trod'st the path of duty. 

Rugged tho' the way? 
Seem'd thou not some straying angel. 
Hymning forth a soft evangel 
To the outcast, worn and weary 
With the world's race, cold and dreary, 

As he wounded lay, 
Shunn'd by priest and Levite scorning? 
Ah ! as bright-brow'd as the morning 

Leading forth the day. 
Shone thy face of tender pity ; 
Lark ne'er carol'd sweeter ditty 
Than thy lips, which told of heaven ! 
Of error past and sin forgiven — ■ 

Homely Hetty Gray ! 

Saintly Hetty Gray ! 
Calmly 'neath thy green roof sleeping, 
Where the robin watch is keeping, 

And the zephyrs play, 
Now thine endless rest thou'rt taking 
From all earthly duties — waking 



C ONTENTMENT. 1 1 1 

Where the skies are softer, fairer, 
And thine eyes are brighter, clearer 

Than the new-born day ! 
And thy soul — which earthly feature 
Hid — shines far excelling creature 
Beauty, as the radiant sunbeam 
Pales the stars' faint, twinkling white gleam — 
Shines with holiness supernal, 
In the realms of light, eternal, 

Glorious, Hetty Gray ! 



CONTENTMENT. 

IN the garden of the heart. 
If ye part the weeds — ye'll see. 
Standing from the paths apart, 

A firm, thrifty little tree, 
That your slightest care repays. 

Bearing golden fruit the while. 
Thro' the cloudiest autumn days 
As in summer's sunniest smile. 

Storms of sorrow may assail. 

But its leaves are ever green. 
Lifting to the rudest gale 

Still their glittering emerald sheen. 
Sit beneath its spreading limbs. 

If you'd 'scape life's fever-heat — 
Listen to the ceaseless hymns 

Floating 'mong its branches sweet. 



113 CONTENTMENT, 

Down yon tangled avenue 

Bloom the amaranth buds of Fame — 
But the thorns ye'll journey thro' 

Write in blood the empty name ! 
On yon mound Ambition rears 

Laurel, pointing to the sky — 
Watered by the anguish-tears 

Wrung from trampled Nature's eye. 

Flowery ways lie all around 

Tempting thee to farther stray, 
But Love's roses on the ground 

Scattered are ere fall of day. 
Friendship's buds are rudely nipt 

By the first chill wintry wind — 
And the golden bowl once sipt, 

Leaves its bitter dregs behind. 

Pleasure, with her phantom train, 

Twines her fading garlands there, 
Hanging on the brow of pain 

Mocking wreaths to hide despair. 
Hope flaunts petals painted bright 

By the magic hand that weaves 
The mountain's azure veil of light 

Which in distance still deceives. 

And a ghostly band appears 

When Remembrance beckons, too. 

Water-lilies, dropping tears, 

Where low bends that mournful yew. 

But the garden runs to waste 
As the sands of life wax low, 



A LAT FOR THE LADTE MOON. 113 

And the foot-prints are effaced 
That you counted long ago. 

Tares and brambles rudely climb 

Where the trellised arbors stood ; 
And the paths are gray with time — 

Moss and ivy crown the wood. 
But Contentment's sturdy tree, 

If ye prune in Life's young spring, 
Still in age will shelter thee, 

And birds in its branches sing ! 



A LAY FOR THE LADYE MOON. 

THERE'S a white-brow'd maiden up in the sky, 
Pale is her cheek, but bright her eye ; 
She is the Ladye of my love ! 
She comes at eve when all is still. 
And naught is heard save the whippoorwill 
In the leafy linden grove — 
Ah ! with her I love to rove ! 

Her air is modest, her smile is pure, 
She is welcome ever at cottage door 

Or palace portal grand ; 
She smiles on the prisoner in his cell. 
Or glides thro' the green and mossy dell, 

With a silvery lamp in hand — 

And her looks are ever bland. 

10* H 



114 THE WIND SPIRIT. 

She sends a glance o'er the rippling tide, 
And the mighty billows swell with pride 

As they rise to kiss her feet ; 
She lingers soft in the jasmine bower, 
And with white fingers points the hour 
When lovers there may meet, 
And she guides their willing feet. 

Oh, this Ladye of my love, you see. 
Hath no fonder, dearer smile for me 

Than for other weary wights ; 
But I worship her, as one may a star 
Sparkling bright where a thousand are 
Thro' the dreamy suinmer nights, 
When elfins dance and sprites ! 

I love her for her gentle wiles. 

Her tender glances and loving smiles, 

Her brow of purity ! 
Her cheek's soft white, which never flushes 
At silly praise ; her heart, which gushes 

With love for all, so free ! — 

Ah ! she's my loved Ladye ! 



THE WIND SPIRIT. 

OH, a tricksy sprite ! a mad, mad sprite ! 
Roameth abroad the livelong night — 
Up and down. 
Up and down. 
Over the woodlands and thro' the town ; 



THE WIND SPIRIT. 115 

Now tossing in air a mountain billow — 

Now whisp'ring soft sighs round a lady's pillow — 

In and out, 

Round about, 
With deafening clamor and boisterous shout ! 
Down the chimney he wildly rushes, 
Out at the keyhole he shrilly gushes ; 
Then rattles the door with mocking glee, 
Holding his breath till you come to see 

Who knocketh without — 

When, with a wild shout. 
He puffs in your face and your light puts out. 

Now he is off, with a whistle shrill. 
Piping away o'er the distant hill ; 

Now up on high. 

Over the sky, 
Where the frightened clouds before him fly : 

Down again 

He seeketh the main — 
And the straining cordage groans with pain, 
As it vainly tries in its clasp to hold 
The restive sail, which this trickster bold 

Is coaxing away. 

In his frolic gay. 
To join him in his frantic play. 
Now he has gained his point at last — 
Upward and onward it speedeth fast. 

Flapping white wings. 

Splitting in strings. 
And dancing along with the crazy blast ! 

You cannot see this gleesome elf, 
Tho' all around you he whirls himself; 



Ii6 THE SONG OF LIFE. 

But you feel his might 

In the chilly night 
When he twirls your hat clear out of sight : — 
The crackling branches own his sway, 
As he scatters them over the broad highway — 

While the aching bones 

Of ancient crones 
Feel the approach of his faintest moans. 
When we hear of shipwrecks and storms without, 
We know that the elfin has been about ; 
'Tis then that he screeches and howls with pain. 
As he looks on the victims his sport has slain ; 

And his grief-stricken sighs 

Wail over the skies 
As he hides his face in a cloud, and flies ! 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 

WHAT a wondrous volume. 
Bound in blue and gold. 
Hath the hand of spring-time 

Tremblingly unrolled ! 
Turn its gilded pages — 

Every one is rife 
With the rhythmic measure 
Of the Song of Life ! 

Where bare branches rattled, 

See — the poison-thorn 
Hath a flowery mantle 

Milk-white as the morn : 



THE SONG OF LIFE. 1 17 

Sunshine brought the blossoms 

From a heart of guile — 
As wrathful natures sometimes 

Are conquered by a smile ! 

Hark ! what busy murmurs 

Float upon the air, 
As the wild bee poises 

O'er his dainty fare ; 
Catch the breath of fragrance 

Stealing down the trees, 
As the pine is tossing 

Kisses to the breeze. 

List ! what strains of music 

Faintly come and go 
Where the brooklet's dimples 

Were hid beneath the snow : — 
All are bringing, bringing 

Their armor to the strife ; 
All are singing, singing 

The stirring Song of Life ! 

Delicate peach-blossoms. 

With promise on their lips — 
Greenest blades, with plenty 

On their finger-tips — 
Point to the coming harvest 

Of fruitage and of grain. 
Whose sheaves can but be garnered 

By toil, perchance by pain. 

And what a meek rejoinder 
The daisy offers up, 



Il8 THE SONG OF LIFE. 

And the crocus pledges softly 
In her golden cup — 
" We'll leave the favor'd blossoms 
To bear of fruit the birth ; 

If we cannot be useful, 
We'll beautify the earth." 

Read the wondrous Poem, 

Till every line's retold — 
God hath writ the volume 

Bound in blue and gold ! 
Read it on the mountain, 

Read it by the sea, 
Every rhythmic measure 

Hath been set for thee. 

Learn the mystic meaning 

Of the bud and fruit, 
And the tender lesson 

The daisv offers mute ; 
Let thy soul interpret 

Why the thistle bears 
A beauteous purple flower 

Amid its thorns and tares. 

Not a tuft of mosses. 

Not a lace-wing'd fly. 
Not a world of glory 

Sparkling in yon sky, 
But hath an evangel. 

Whether great or small — 
Seek thou out the meaning 

Of the Hand upon the wall ! 



UNREST, IK 

Then thou canst join the anthem, 

The thrilling, glorious lay 
That open lies before thee 

In God's own Book to-day ! 
And all thy soul grow stronger 

To battle with the strife — 
For Angel Hosts are singing 

The grand old Song of Life ! 



UNREST. 



DEATH-DAMPS gather and pallors rest 
On the clay-cold cheek of the moon. 
And the cloudy winding-sheet is prest 
By the grieving wind, on her waxen breast. 
As he moans a hollow tune. 

Afar the sea is wailing low 

Its sad, complaining song, 
As Ocean's ghosts glide to and fro. 
In dripping cerements of woe, 

Trailing white locks along. 

And naught is out on venturous wing 

Save churchyard bat and owl ; 
The woods with elfin laughter ring, 
As from fay-man wild, and eldritch thing, 

From goblin, gnome and ghoul ! 



I20 UNREST, 

While o'er the welkin sounds a bell, 

Now far off and now near ; 
It comes with weirdest of spell, 
As though the sexton. Night, would tell 
The dead Day's age in fear. 

And now the waves of troubled thought 

Are rising in their might, 
To sweep the gauzy barriers wrought 
By pale Philosophy, to naught — 

As wind-swept films of night. 

Beat on, vexed waters, in my breast. 
And lash the wreck-strewn shore ; 
Ye bear to me, in your unrest. 
Some olden wrong to be redressed. 
To grieve me nevermore ! 

Some memories wakened from the sleep, 

The Dead Sea calm of old. 
To bubble up the stagnant deep 
In widening circles, till they sweep 
The distant strand of gold, 

Where every wrong will be made right, 

And every tear's a gem : 
O wondrous gift of second-sight ! 
Ye come to me this storm-swept night 

That I its force may stem. 

For it was not a sky of light 

That showed the Promised Land — 



WEART. 121 

A pillar'd cloud, by day and night, 
O'er wilderness and waves of might, 
Led to its silver strand ! 

And thus, on sorrow's Pisgah mound, 

I stand, like one of old — 
And see the spice trees waving round. 
The palms and purple fruit beyond 

The grain-clad fields of gold ! 

Oh be thou brave and true, my heart ! 

There is the waiting shore — 
Turn not to right or left, but start 
In strength, and the wild waves will part 

And bear thee safely o'er 



WEARY. 



OVER the purpling sea 
The day goes down to the dark — 
And the hope again is wrecked for me 
That shone with her golden bark ! 

I call to the ships of Morn, 

"What cheer from the Isle of Shade?" 
And whispered tones, like echoes born 

Of a faith that is half afraid — 

Come back — " The tide sets in 

Where black and bare lies the sand ; 
11 



122 LIFE. 

Take heart ! there's a haven of peace to win 
Beyond the wreck-strewn strand !" 

But, alas ! on the shore I wait, 

Where the waves once frolick'd free, 

But no bark draws near with a golden freight 
Of love and trust for me. 

The royal fleet of days 

With the wealth of worlds floats by 
Unheeding the trembling hands I raise 

Or my low, despairing cry. 

I am weary of the strife 

Of angry waters near — 
For I hear the roar of the waves of Life 

From a strand so bleak and bare — 

That I long for the flood-tide now. 

To hail the phantom bark 
With its misty sails and skeleton prow 

Bearing away for the dark ! 



LIFE. 



ON midnight's arch, to gild the gloom, 
Are richly frescoed golden spheres, 
Brought from nonentity's dark doom 
To being — tho' its price be tears ! 



LIFE. 123 

In every shimmering gleam of light 

Wand'ring adown the misty blue 
Of the old aisles of solemn night, 

Some world's great eye is looking thro'. 

Some world's great pulse, in every ray 

Quivering among the faintest stars 
That pale when Hesper's watch-fires play, 

Or the red beacon's blaze of Mars — 
Is thrilling thro' the azure veins 

Of space, and pulsates Nature's heart ; 
And life, mayhap, is there — its pains 

And joys and hopes may all have part. 

And martyrs in some far-off sphere 

Perchance have stood the torturing stake 
Without the palm of glory there. 

Where hearts, as here, in silence break. 
And patient ones, who've borne the cross, 

Tho' all-deserving of the crown ; 
Who cheerful wait, come gain, come loss, 

And give a smile for every frown. 

And some whose lives are like the brook 

Winding its gleesome way along 
O'er sunny mead, thro' leafy nook, 

Singing a low, perpetual song 
To starry flowers that crown its banks, 

And fling love-kisses to its lip — 
Ah ! well may choral hymns of thanks 

Float o'er the golden bowl they sip ! 

But Life to some — like torrent wild 
That thro' the gaping chasm pours. 



124 LIFE. 

Where light amid the gloom ne'er smiled, 
Nor verdure clothes the rocky shores — 

May sterile be, and bleak and bare. 
And green spot in the waste be none : 

Forgive them., Father, if the prayer 

Should falter, that " Thy will be done !" 

And some be there, whose Hope's low tide 

Is like the sea's in Arctic zone — 
Whose waves of trust have flow'd in pride. 

To turn on the cold shore to stone. 
But if above the glacier strays 

A slanting sunbeam's golden plume, 
How soon the auroral arch of rays 

Shows fire still smoulders 'mid the gloom. 

And sadder lives be onward driven. 

Like oarless boats with rudders lost. 
When o'er the pilot star of heaven 

The cloud-surf is all wildly toss'd — 
No beacon light amid the foam 

To lead to refuge and relief. 
They drift away from God and home 

To strand upon Sin's treacherous reef! 

While other lives leap 'mid the strife. 

Like the bold cataract, fierce and free, 
Roaring along the rocks of Life 

Unto its ever-restless sea ; 
No time to note the blessed peace 

That in the flowery valleys lie — 
In thunder tones that never cease 

Ambition calls them and they fly ! 



LIFE. 125 

But gentler lives, unknown to fame, 

Like the sweet fountain in the glade 
To which the thirsty traveler came 

And found the ever-friendly aid — 
May flow, as in our nether sphere, 

Whose never-failing streams suffice 
All pain and woe to soothe and cheer — 

Their depths conceal the " Pearl of Price !" 

For meek Humility's the gem 

That crown'd with light the Nazarene, 
More glorious than the diadem 

That graced the brow of Egypt's queen ! 
And sparkles not a jeweled prow 

In all night's shining argosy 
Of worlds — so bright as streams that flow 

From the deep well of sympathy. 

All, waifs upon the tide, we float 

Upon creation's mystic sea — 
It matters not if golden boat 

Is yours, and a frail plank for me — 
We're steering for that Icy Strand 

To join a goodly company. 
Who ask not how we gain the land 

Where pride is wrecked and souls are free ! 

'Tis much to live, but more to die. 
For Death unseals Life's mystery ; 

We've but to close the weary eye 
To learn our Being's history — 

To see the mighty wheel that turns 
Its labyrinth of worlds along 
11 « 



126 LET US FORGET. 

Where the great central sim still burns- 
And hearken the Archangel's song ! 



LET US FORGET. 

WHAT do the early-blown 
Violets say ? 
What chime the lily bells 

Forth to the May ? 
What murmurs the stream 'neath 

The spring-time's sweet kiss, 
That has warmed its chill'd lips 
Back to life and to bliss ? — 
" Let us forget in the 
Smiles of to-day, 
Old Winter's bleak frowns — " 
Is their blithe roundelay. 

What saith each diamond-crown'd 

Star of the night, 
On its silvery throne 

Holding sceptre of light — 
Shining more glorious, 

As deeper the gloom 
Shrouds the dun earth like a 

Pall o'er a tomb? 
" Let us forget," says each 

Shimmering ray — 
" That our light was obscur'd 

When shone the dead day." 



LET US FORGET. 1 27 

What is the burden of 

Every tune, 
Whose rhythmical measure 

Makes vocal sweet June — 
Rolling in billowy 

Surges of song 
The purpling hill-tops and 

Green meads along? — 
" Let us forget we are 

Creatures of Time, 
But rejoice while we may — " 

Is the ring of each chime. 

What is the carol on 

Winged winds borne, 
That progress is sounding 

From watch-tower of morn — 
Rolling in echoes o'er 

Mountain and plain. 
Trilling a cheering, 

Soul-wakening strain ? — 
" Let us forget, in bright 

Truth's dawning ray. 
The gloomy surroundings 

Of Error's dark day." 

What is the anthem that 

Seraphs above 
Are chanting with tender 

And pitying love — 
Each angel-chorister. 

Veiling his brow, 



128 LET US FORGET. 

While in that blest Presence 
To which all things bow? — 

" Let us forget" — is their 
Merciful lay — 

"And forgive mortal's failings — 
We're wiser than they !" 

What is the wisdom that 

Reason should give, 
* To teach us to truly 

And happily live — 
That we all the roses 

May cull in our path, 
Leaving the thorns for the 

Black brow of wrath ? 
'Tis to cherish all kindliness 

We may have met — 
But the wrongs and oppressions 

Let us forget ! 

What is the whisper the 

Monitor blest 
Is breathing in secret 

Recess of the breast — 
Pointing to Him, who, though 

Scorned and reviled, 
Upon His inhuman 

Betrayers still smiled? — 
" Let us forget — 'tis the 

Motto of Heaven — 
And forgive, as we all 

Hope to be forgiven !" 



THE SONG OF OTHER TEARS. 129 



THE SONG OF OTHER YEARS. 

WHEN the heart, no longer flushed 
With hope, as in its sweet spring-tide, 
Has put its dreams away, and hushed 

The golden chords once struck with pride — 
A fitful breeze of memory may 
Sweep o'er its strings an olden lay — 
But ah ! the song of other years, 
Tho' woke in glee, will end in tears ! 

We may not sing the tender strain 

That's hallow'd to the peaceful dead ! 
Its notes of love, its low refrain. 

Would rouse but ghosts of pleasures fled — 
We lay it on the heart away, 
A never-sung but cherished lay — 
That sweet old song of other years. 
Baptized in joy — embalmed in tears ! 



DYING. 



POOR heart ! she says her boat of life 
Is drifting down a darkling sea ! 
And all the golden beaches fade 

Where the old landmarks used to be. 

And then unto the crimson lips 
Of a sea-shell she bends, all pale, 
I 



130 DYING, 

To hearken — how one night it fled 
In terror from the murderous gale, 

That shook the solid oaken hearts 

Out of the iron-girdled barks, 
And hurled the shrieking seamen down 

Where gaped the jaws of hungry sharks. 

And then, a loosened chord vibrates 
On Memory's rifted lute a while. 

To tell of one beneath the wave, 

Who robbed her young lip of its smile. 

Poor heart ! poor broken lute ! a thrill 
Is all that's left for either now — 

Darker and deeper grows the wave. 
While swifter goes the reeling prow. 

'Tis cold, she says, oh very cold ! 

And the frail boat is shivering o'er. 
As out of time on seas unknown 

An icy hand leads from the shore. 

But when the lighthouse warden. Night, 

Set all his lamps in starry towers. 
And a low moon with slanting rays 

Made lengthened shadows 'mong the flowers- 
She said, sweet sounds came o'er the deep. 

Soft ripples as of singing streams — 
And the low whispers that once made 

The music of her childhood's dreams ; 



INCONSTANCr. 13 ' 

That a faint light was on the wave, 

Like that of skies that breathe of morn ; 

The sea was placid now — her boat 

Seemed on some angel's pinions borne — 

While far, and yet how near, a line 
Of silver haze hung o'er a strand, 

That something in her spirit ear 

Was breathing, was the Better Land ! 

Oh, Boat of Life ! that moon went out 
The purple gateway of the West, 

But not until thy quivering prow 

Had touched the sacred port of Rest ! 



INCONSTANCY. 

SIGH not for vows broken — 
They were not made to last ; 
Weep not o'er words spoken 

In the unreturning past ! 
Mutable, by nature. 

All things are below. 
From man, the lordly creature, 

To waves that ebb and flow : 
Moving, changing seasons, 

Rising, falling sea, 
Are as many reasons 

For inconstancy. 



132 INCONSTANCY. 

Dunner the leaf groweth 

In the autumn brown — 
*Swifter the stream floweth 

When stern Winter's flown ; 
Rounded moons are waning 

Even while we gaze — 
And the sunshine gaining 

Lengthens summer days ; 
Panoramic visions — 

Rolling clouds we see 
In the stellar regions, 

Paint inconstancy. 

Hope not that Love's bubble 

Will its hues retain ; 
Vapor is Life's trouble — 

Mist, its joy or pain ! 
Naught that's human's lasting — 

Pleasure findeth wings ; 
And even grief is casting 

Moulds in short-liv'd things ! 
Fading, changing, passing — 

All things that we see 
Are mirrors fairly glassing 

Forth Inconstancy. 



'GAINST WIND AND TIDE. 133 



'GAINST WIND AND TIDE. 

" I cannot hide that some have striven, 
Achieving calm, to whom was given 
The joy that mixes man with heaven ; 

" Who, rowing hard against the stream. 
Saw distant gates of Eden gleam. 
And did not dream it was a dream." — Tennyson. 

NO dream — no dream : — If fearless hand 
And steadfast will but guide, 
Thy boat may reach that Eden land, 
'Gainst stubborn wind and tide. 

I've seen the young moon's pilot bark 

Float down a sunset sea, 
And in her wake, where skies grew dark, 

A sparkling argosy 

Of jeweled prows, on Night's blue wave. 
Which to my questioning "Hail !" 

A wondrous page of wisdom gave 
On every silver sail — 

Telling, that holy midnight came 

Like sorrow, softly down, 
To hide the fiery sun's fierce flame 

With a mild, starry crown. 

Such as our daylight may not bring 
In pride for us to wear ; 



12 



134 ^^^ MYSTIC LAND. 

As nightingales the sweetest sing 
When darkest hours draw near. 

It may be that the cloud that brings 

A shadow o'er thy sky, 
Folds blessings in its dewy wings, 

That missed, thy flowers would die ! 

It may be that the gathering gale 
That threatens wreck to thee 

Is sent in love to speed thy sail 
Unto a tranquil sea, 

Whose crystal waters, calm and bright, 

Might never meet thy gaze. 
If never lower'd the angry night, 

Or broke the cheerless days. 
* 

Then shrink not, when wild waves advance, 

And look not backward then ; 
For know — " In the reproof of chance 

Lies the true proof of men !" 



THE MYSTIC LAND. 

I LIVE in a world of my own. 
Where tear-drops and laughter are brothers ; 
'Tis a mystical clime, in a sun-lighted zone. 
Outshining the cold world of others ! 



THE MYSTIC LAND. 135 

*Tis peopled by elfins and sprites, 

That dance to my harp's trembling measures — 
And winged thoughts wander to taste the delights 

Of fancy's most exquisite pleasures. 

Far away in the regions of space 

Is this magical land of my dreaming — 

Where, tired of earth and its feverish race, 
I turn from the torment of seeming I 

Its sunlight can dry up the tears 

Which falsehood and coldness have started ; 
And the spirit of childhood there radiant appears 

As when pure, in lost Eden, we parted. 

I sit in this rainbow-propp'd clime 

And forget the dull earth 'neatli me turning ; 

I hear not its jarrings of strife as they chime — 
I feel not its heart-scalds and burning ! 

Alone ! — I am never alone ! 

For I beg not from others my pleasures ; 
My heart holds the key to a magical zone, 

Whose caverns are sparkling with treasures. 

O beautiful land of my dreams ! 

I enter thy mystical portal. 
And drink of thy fount of oblivion that streams 

To banish the sorrow that's mortal 

Oh, lonely and sad on the earth 

I should wander all hopeless and weary — 

Could I not at the shrine where my spirit had birth 
Arm my soul for the journey so dreary ! 



13^ THE BEAUTIFUL. 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 

O POET'S dream of old delight ! 
O master-chord of Nature's lyre ! 
O charm ! that haloes dark-brow'd night 
With holy radiance — whence, the light 
Of thy mysterious fire ? 

O Beauty, thou art ever3^where, 

Thou chalice of enchantment, bliss ! 
Do we not quaff thee in the air 
We breathe — as thy gold nectar there 
Rolls sparkling to our kiss ? 

Thou'rt limned upon the blushing face 
Of youthful, blue-eyed morning gay ; 
And 'tis thy cunning hand we trace 
Touching the faded locks with grace, 
Of ancient evening gray. 

And when the withered boughs let fall 

Their last pale yellow leaves — 'tis thine. 
With snowy shroud and gjistening pall 
To drape the branches bare, till all 
The woodlands radiant shine ! 

Over the blue wave with a wing 

Of fire, thou gildest Ocean's surge ! 
On Alpine heights thou'lt grandly sing, 
Or in the vale, with lowliest thing. 
Warble a plaintive dirge. 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 137 

The tiniest streams that find their way, 
Singing and laughing, to the sea — 

The mightiest cataracts that play 

Triumphal marches to the day. 
Alike, are tuned by thee. 

And when the purple storm-cloud rears 

Its crystal jets in yonder sky — 
'Tis thine to catch the jewel tears, 
And set the covenant of years, 

A gorgeous bow, on high ! 

The swelling buds adown the dale. 

The full-blown flowers with golden crowns, 
And nun-like lilies, purely pale. 
Have wrapped them in thy mystic veil 
To glorify the downs ! 

And when the red moon sits upon 

December's cold and barren hill, 
Thy master-hand has belted on 
The snowy mound, a diamond zone 

Of shimmering icicle. 

And when the wayward human heart 
Once owns thy spell, there's not a thrill 

Of Nature's pulse — a quivering start — 

That has not magic power to part 
The filmy folds of ill ! 

O witchery ! O vision wove 
In realms of high Infinity, 
12 ^if 



138 DAYLIGHT. 

To show to man ( by wakening love 
For all things lovely here — above—) 
His Immortality ! 



DAYLIGHT. 

MORN, on the mountain-top, 
Misty and gray. 
Heralds the coming of 

Beautiful day — 
Chasing the night from its 

Leafy-crown'd nest. 
Who in the vale lingers 
A moment to rest. 

But day, like a conqueror, 

Marshals his hosts — 
And forests and meadows 

Assist in his boasts ; 
His clarion-voiced trumpeter 

Crows from the corn. 
And shrilly-pip'd choristers 

Sing from the thorn. 

All nature shakes off the dark 

Chains of the night, 
As nations from bondage hail 

Liberty's light ! 
The beauties which darkness with 

Sable wings hid. 



THE ANGEL MONITOR. 1 39 

Shine forth as the day-god's bright 
Hand lifts the lid. 

For night, like the pall which 

Oppression doth fling, 
Conceals with dark foldings 

Each glorious thing — 
Till day, with glad anthems 

Of freedom, doth give 
A tinge from its bright wing 

To all things that live. 



THE ANGEL MONITOR. 

MIDNIGHT broodeth, hushed and dreamy, 
Over sleeping earth's expanse. 
Folding in her star-gemm'd garments 

Myriads, in a death-like trance. 
Scarce a ripple stirs the ocean. 

Wind and wave have sunk to rest — 
" Tired Nature's sweet restorer" 

Claspeth all things to her breast. 

Angels now their watch are keeping, 

Softly from their golden home, 
With the dews of night descending — 

Lo ! in bright-robed throngs they come ! 
Circling downward — nearer, nearer, 

Poising now on radiant wings, 
Soon the sounding arch of heaven 

With their choral anthem rinsfs ! 



140 THE ANGEL MONITOR. 

Now the chorus dies in echoes — 

While from out the briUiant throngs 
One with brow serene and holy, 

Still a softened note prolongs ; 
Love with gentle pity blending 

In her voice persuasive, mild — 
Welling from her heart's deep fountain, 

Tender, pure and undefiled. 

Mortal — wouldst thou wisdom borrow ! 

Learn the secret whilst thou can ? 
How thou may'st with skill supernal 

Blend the angel with the man ! 
Waken thee from sleep's embraces. 

Leave the shadow of her wings ; 
Mortal, lend thine ear and listen. 

Listen — while the angel sings ! — 

" From the far abode of glory. 

Where the white-wing'd cherubs stand 
Chanting with celestial praises 

All the wonders of His hand 
At whose word, from realms of darkness, 

Countless worlds have bright'ning smiled- 
Lo ! to erring man I hasten — 

Man — the restless, wayward child, 

" From the Father's house still wandering 
Q'cv the broad and open way ; 

Ever plucking fruit forbidden — 
Still the wily Serpent's prey ! 

Yet not wholly unprotected. 

Heavenly guards upon him wait : — 



THE ANGEL MONITOR. 141 

Man ! wouldst thou but list their teachings 
Thou wouldst cease to rail at fate. 



" In thy heart's most secret chamber. 

There a seraph folds its wings ; 
Hearken to its gentle warnings — 

List the ' still small voice' that sings ! 
Through the flowery fields of pleasure, 

Down the steeps that lead to crime — 
Still may'st hear the whisp'ring measure, 

Still may'st list the dreamy chime. 

" When the siren beckons onward. 
Warbling liquid notes of love ; 
Pointing with a taper finger 

To the garlands she has wove. 
Covering with their fragrant blossoms 

All the thorns that hide them there — 
Comes not tJien the whispered warning, 
' Touch not — taste not — oh beware I' 

" Oh there breathes not human bosom 

But hath room for angel guest ! 
List its pleadings, it will lead thee 

Gently thro' the paths of rest ; 
It will point the shoals and quicksands. 

Hidden by the treacherous wave. 
In whose depths poor, sin-drawn mortals 

Madly rush and fearless lave. 

" It will bid thee help each other. 
Soothing earthly cares to rest ; 



142 THE ANGEL MONITOR. 

Then thy sin-benighted brother 
Thou wilt fold unto thy breast, 

Saying — '/, too., wandered weary, 
Groping in the darkness drear, 

Till I heard the angel singing 
Bidding me my brother cheer !' 

" Once you list its gentle breathings, 

Heed this angel monitor, 
You will learn a truth immortal — 

It will teach you what you are I 
Show how prone to do the evil 

Which you feel you should not do ; 
How your sin-entrammeled spirit 

Shuns the good it would pursue. 

" Thus with new-born, mental vision. 

Your own weakness you will see ; 
Then you'll feel, and feeling show it. 

For your brother — charity ! 
Charity, which beareth all things. 

Is long-suffering and is kind ; 
Evil thinks not — hoping ever 

In all hearts some good to find. 

" Some little seedling, which, with culture. 

Yet will bloom a goodly tree, — 
Warmed to bearing fruit perennial 

By thy smile, sweet charity ! — 
Which distrust's cold breath had blighted, 

Dark suspicion's tares had curst, 
Calumny's foul sneer had withered 

Ere the germ to life had burst. 



THE ANGEL MONITOR. 143 

" Man ! thy erring brother judge not, 

Thanking God you're not as he ! 
Ah ! you know not what temptations 

Made him such as now you see. 
Pitying angels round him cluster — 

God, the Father, loves him still ; 
And shall fellow-mortals spurn him. 

As if they could do no ill ? 

" Ah ! you know not when the moment 

You may slip upon the road, 
Over whose uneven surface 

Thus far you have safely trod ; 
Then, with wild, despairing glances, 

Seeking succor far and wide. 
Pained — you'll see some scorning Levite 

Passing on the other side. 

" Rouse thee, Man ! be up and doing ! 

For the morrow draweth near, 
When to serve thy fallen brother 

Thou no longer may'st be here. 
Hearken to the voice of warning, 

To the counsel which it brings ; 
Mortal, lend thine ear and listen — 

Listen while the angel sings !" 

Now the morn with rosy lustre 

. Trembles in the Orient gates, 
Like a bride all bathed in blushes. 

For the sun, her bridegroom, waits. 
Day, with busy step advances 
Bringing earthly toil and care — 



144 MIDSUMMER'S EVE. 

Angel hosts withdraw their pinions, 
Fading into upper air. 

Still soft tones, like dropping waters, 

Through the morning twilight come, 
While in distance melt their voices 

As they seek their heavenly home : — 
Hear ye not the dying cadence ? 

Now it louder swells again — 
Hark ! the burden of the measure — 

" Peace on earth — good-will to men !" 



MIDSUMMER'S EVE. 

DAY has burned away to embers 
On the hearthstone of the West, 
But grave twilight still remembers 

His warm lips her cheeks have prest. 
And within her purple chambers 
Flushes v^ith a sweet unrest. 

Rustling leaves and buds are pealing 
Low-toned chimes within the dell — 

Nature's vesper songs — that stealing 
O'er the spirit with a spell, 

Waken all the chords of feeling 

In the heaven-tuned heart that dwell. 

'Tis the witching hour for dreaming — 
Rest, my soul, from earthly strife ! 



MIDSUMMER'S EVE. 145 

Let the waifs float past, that streaming 

From the wild flood-gates of life, 
With its bitterness are teeming — 

With its treachery are rife : — 

And upon yon sea of amber, 

In the young moon's silver boat, 
Ofl'to some star-lighted chamber 

Of the blue vault, lightly float 
Past the will-o'-wisps that clamber 

Where the meteor lanterns shoot. 

Ere the dying eve is shrouded 

In her misty robe of white ; 
Ere the coming damps have clouded 

O'er yon azure mirror bright ; 
Ere sad memory's ghosts have crowded 

All those halls of golden light ! 

Up ! where asphodels are blooming 

By some silver-crested spring — 
For the shadowy past is coming. 

All his phantom shapes to bring. 
As the dark-plum'd night is looming 

Like a bird of evil wing. 

Off* — and tread the white and azure 

Of the tessellated floor, 
Where each crystal-lined embrasure 

Holds a crown of worlds, or more. 
With the constellated treasure 

Of the monarchies of yore ! 
13 K 



1^6 THE NORSE QUEEN'S RIDE. 

Bear me softly, tide of even ! 

On thy rippling billows, where 
All these sceptred kings of heaven 

Hold their courts in golden air — 
For I dream, to crush the leaven 

Of the bitter loaf — despair ! 



THE NORSE QUEEN'S RIDE. 

A FANTASIE. 

BLOOD-RED glows the starry palace 
Of the Norse Qiieen, Borealis, 
Golden-haired, pale-cheeked Aurora, 
Of the Halls of Cynosura ! 
There ten thousand lights are glancing, 
And blue signal-fires are dancing — 
Purple plumes and banners streaming, 
Crimson rockets weirdly gleaming 
In fantastic corruscations. 
Sparkling jets and radiations. 
Diamonding the icy towers 
Where the beetling glacier lowers 
O'er the battlemented sweep. 
Frozen moat and donjon keep — 
Till each vapory tide that darkles 
O'er the sea-cerulean, sparkles. 
Limned in colors emerald, 5^ellow ; 
Golden rose or orange mellow. 
Steely gray or greenish azure, 
In a starry-ray'd embrasure. 



THE NORSE QUEEN'S RIDE. 1 47 

Waving with a tremulous motion 
Like the pulses of old ocean. 

For the bold Norsemen are met, 
With glittering spear and bayonet, 
Gilded barb and lance and crescent, 
Paley-tinted phosphorescent — 
To attend their queen, Aurora, 
To the sweet domain of Flora. 



She had heard, cold Borealis, 

Of the wonders of that palace 

In the far-off Tropic seas. 

Fabled as Hesperides 

For their luscious fruitage golden — 

And, until she had beholden 

All the curious devices 

That the flower sprite entices 

Bright-plumed creatures with, her pinions 

Could not rest in her dominions. 

She must see the beauteous queen 

On her throne of emerald green. 

With her handmaids so enchanting 

That the words will ere be wanting 

That can paint the porcelain tinting 

Of their cheeks and lips — no printing 

Of the poet's pen can blazon 

Forth the charms she fain would gaze on ! 

* * * * * 

Now, behold, the pale Aurora 
Sees her rival lie before her. 
Azure-eyed, rose-lipp'd young Flora ! 



148 THE NORSE QUEEN'S RIDE. 

In her fragrant jasmine bower 

Sipping sweets at midnight's hour ; 

While the sih^er winds are stooping 

O'er her perfumed tresses, drooping 

In a shower of ghstening rain — 

And an Iris-banded train 

Of bright-plumed creatures flutter by 

To catch entranced her balmy sigh, 

And Zephyr fans the heat away 

Left by the fiery-footed Day — 

While all the garden sylphs are wreathing 

Fresher coronals, and breathing 

Odors o'er the couch of sheen, 

To lull the slumbers of their Qiieen — 

And Peace sits brooding like a dove 

Above these realms of happy love ! 

From her chariot in the skies 
The cold Qiieen sees, with glistening eyes- 
Till a flush, a quivering glow 
Reddens o'er her brow of snow : 
True, she has her morris dancers, 
Her bold spearmen and her lancers. 
Archers, meteor-forgers, all 
To ride forth if she but call — 
Thor, the bravest son of Odin, 
Points the lightnings at her noddin', 
And the old god at her call 
Waits in his Valhalla Hall, 
All his ruby wine to pour 
Over heaven's starry floor ! 
Yes, she feels it, she has power ! 
But love ne'er points one golden hour 



ONCE UPON A TIME. 149 

For her, upon the dial's round — 
And woman should be but love-crown'd ! 
For what is power, but the cold light 
That bristles o'er the Arctic night 
In spears and lances, 'mid the gloom. 
Like death-lights dancing o'er a tomb ? 
But love is the warm Tropic's sigh 
That fills with dew the violet's eye. 
Throbs in the wild carnation's heart. 
And sweetest fragrancy will start 
From the young herb's deep bruised leaf — 
Ah ! question not the pale Queen's grief. 
The world hath many a chill'd Aurora 
As well as love-crown'd, blessed Flora ! 
And many a richly gilded palace 
Has some pale, spectral Borealis, 
Watching with a glistening eye 
A flower-crown'd rival passing by 
To happy home 'neath green-wood shades 
Which power's cold death-light ne'er invades ! 
New Orleans, September i, 1859. 



ONCE UPON A TIME. 

"T^IS the wind, the same old, restless wind, 

i That in tuneful numbers thrill'd the pine 
Upon the hillside, where the willows twined 

Above the brooklet in days o' lang syne. 
How it murmurs now of wasted years, 

Scattered like the leaves in autumn's prime — 

13* 



150 ONCE UPON A TIME. 

Ah ! they were not washed away in tears 
Once upon a time ! 

'Tis the wind, the ever-moaning wind, 

Like a wand'ring spirit, sad, unblest — 
Ever seeking what it may not find, 

Shelter where its weary wing may rest. 
It ne'er sang us such a solemn strain 

When to youth's joy-bells it lent a chime — 
From our hearts it caught the glad refrain 

Once upon a time ! 

'Tis the wind, it calls us from afar 

With a blended tone, half mirth, half tears, 
Like a cadence some vibrating bar 

Sends from the past adown our later years. 
Ah ! its melody once sweetly trilled. 

But the measure long has ceased to chime ; 
Only echoes fall where music thrilled 

Once upon a time ! 

'Tis the wind, it waileth evermore 
Plaintive dirges for the buried hours ; 

And we hear it on Time's star-lit shore 
Calling spectres from the misty bowers ; 

Trooping ghosts they come, as gray-eyed Eve 
, Lights her watch-fire after curfew chime, 

But such visions ne'er caused us to grieve 
Once upon a time ! 

Then the breeze at rainbow-tinted Morn 

Brought glad promise of most golden Noon ! 



THE LOVED AND LOST. 151 

Short-lived glory — better far unborn, 

Than upon our pathway pale so soon ! — 

Tone by tone, as all those splendors dimmed, 
Sank the sweet breeze to a sadder chime ; 

Till the heart forgets the lay it hymned 
Once upon a time ! 

Weird wind, cease, cease your mournful song ! 

See, the gray mists at thy bidding come, 
Putting out the lights that shine along 

The blue aisles of the far-off starry home. 
And thy chilling breath has blown the flame 

Of many a hope out, with its churchyard chime, 
Never in our hearts to burn the same 

As once upon a time ! 



THE LOVED AND LOST. 

LOVED and lost ! O loved and lost ! 
And will the May put on 
Her rosy scarf and gay green hood. 

When our pale Lily's gone ? 
Will the shy bluebird seek its home 

Across the wind-rock'd main, 
And our dear nursling nevermore 
Come back to us again? 

I marvel how the breeze can toy 
With the wild willow's hair. 



152 MT BIRTH-DAT. 

When sunny tresses all unstirred 
Lie 'neath the daisies there ; 

Or how the careless day can turn 
Her empty glass again, 

And all the golden sands run on 
Unmindful of our pain. 

Oh, night of sorrow ! may there come 

A mist-dispelling morn 
Across our shrouded household skies, 

Of faith and mercy born — 
When looking o'er the grave, we'll see. 

What bids our anguish cease — 
A white-robed Pilgrim enter at 

The pearly gates of peace ! 



MY BIRTH-DAY. 

ANOTHER leaf to-day laid bare 
By Time's untiring wing ! 
Another page, perchance, for care 

To leave a blotted thing — 1 

Or angels make a record where 
Their shining feet may ring ! 

By my heart's ocean's wind-swept shore 

In my life-boat I stand, 
The while the waves come rolling o'er 

Unto the lonely strand, 



MT BIR TH-DA T. 1 53 

Some freighted with the trust they bore 
When first they left tlie land — 

Some muttering of an angry gale, 

Of strife and thunder-guns — '• 
Some strewn with wrecks and corses pale — 

Some radiant, shining ones, 
Tinged with the glory ( soon to pale) 

Of bright but setting suns ! 

Some murmuring of amaranth bowers 

And golden asphodel, 
Of isles where Fame's white buds and flowers, 

Like Ocean's foam-wreaths swell — 
But ah ! the temple of the hours 

Sends forth a muffled knell. 

For every wave that seeks the strand. 

Laden with song or roar, 
Breaks, like the tides of Arctic land, 

Upon an icy shore — 
Their white lips parting where I stand. 

To whisper low, " No more !" 

How can I give a bark of hope 

Unto that darkling tide ? 
Is it but wayward Fancy's scope 

That low distrust would hide — 
That thus I feel my soul doth ope 

To day her portals wide ? — 

Wind music, I may not shut out. 
Comes up through withered leaves, 



154 ^ LITTLE WHILE. 

Singing of spring-time — how can Doubt 

Garner her dusky sheaves, 
When promise-breathing seedHngs sprout 

'Neath grand old forest eaves ? 

Away, away before the gale, 

Under bare poles I'll go — 
I'll reef my breeze-inviting sail 

When tempests rudely blow ^ 

Or spread it when a tender tale 

The south wind whispers low. 

With the dead past beneath my keel, 

My log-book turned anew ; 
A steadfast purpose — true as steel — 

Shall guide me safely through ! 
So now, the helm — thro' woe or weal, 

Stand Pilot, firm and true ! 
February 12, l86i. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 

DAY adown the golden stair 
Has turned the hinge of Sunset's gate 
A ghostly inist is waiting there, 

To rob her of her glorious state. 
See ! upon her brow of light 

Its chilling, death-damp folds are hung. 
While from the silver bells of night 
A low-toned dirge is softly rung. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 155 

Close your waxen lids so meek, 

Lily, pining in the glen ; 
She who kissed your pallid cheek 

Ne'er will praise its pearl again. 
When the fickle sun smiles on 

The younger buds the morrow brings, 
Thy beauty, with the day that's gone. 

Shall too have flown — like all bright things ! 

Passing thus away, the while, 

Other days will bloom and fade — 
Other sunny hours will smile 

Above the dun old churchyard shade 
That wraps the tomb where mouldering lies 

All that once sprang from quick'ning germ — 
Will smile — tho' kindly hearts and eyes 

Are left to darkness and the worm ! 

A little while, and we shall lay 

Us down to rest, with folded hands ; 
While the great world its mystic way 

Will circle on — tho' as the sands 
That pave the desert are its graves — 

What recks it that our little breath 
Should pass upon the breeze that waves 

Our new-found wings o'er gulf of death ? 

The rolling earth must still fulfill 

Its mission ; and, like bird of Spring, 

That droops its old, worn plumage, will 
Renew its crests tho' on the wing : 

Other feet shall press its sod — 
Other hopeful hearts will beat — 



156 HEAVEN. 

Other weary ones shall plod 

Toward that goal where all must meet. 

A little while, a little while, 

And each his burden will lay down ; 
And he who sorrows now, will smile 

To find his cross hath won a crown ! 
A little while, ye weary wait — 

Some pitying Day will beckon you 
To enter at the golden gate 

Life's thorny path hath led you to. 



HEAVEN. 



IS it where the spiral stairway. 
Set with gems, leads up the blue ? 
Are the gleams that pierce the ether. 

Eyes of angels looking thro' .? 
Is that great white road that stretches. 

Paved with stars, across the skies. 
The way — beyond poor mortal reaches- 
That the ransom'd spirit flies } 

Is that land of wondrous glory 
Undivined by human sight? 

Like creation's mystic story, 

Hieroglyphed on scroll of Night. 

Ah ! not so ; faint heart, despair not — 
Heaven is very near to you ; 



HEAVEN. 157 

Tho' thy burden weighs, yet, fear not, 
With the Father's house in view ! 



For, without the prophet's vision, 

The mysterious Hnes to read. 
That God for man's blest intuition 

Writes in every guileless deed — 
Ye may see — if not foul fettered 

By the blinding bands of sin — 
Thy soul's wall all sublimely lettered, 

*' Heaven's kingdom is within !" 

If within be peace and gladness — 

Love for all things, great and small — 
Pity, nigh akin to sadness, 

For an erring brother's fall ; 
For enemies a meek prayer, rather 

Than revenge's fiendish due — 
Lowly breathed, "Forgive them. Father, 

For they know not what they do !" 

Humility, when wreath of laurel 

Crowns thee conqueror in a field, 
Where self stood trembling in the quarrel. 

Urging thee to dastard yield ; 
But martyr firmness, when thy spirit 

At life's fiery stake is tried, 
Tho' no palm awards the merit 

That has stemmed the raging tide. 

And, withal, a hopeful nature 
Sifting out the grain of good, 
14 



1^8 BESSIE BELL. 

The one redeeming, better feature 

Found in every evil brood, — 
Feeding hate and falsehood only 

With the sweet fruit of the True ! 
Loving, tho' unloved and lonely — 

Say, can heaven be far from you ? 

Ah ! nearer, nearer for the crosses 

That have strewn thy way of life ; 
Nearer for the hallowing losses — 

Nearer, for the conquered strife ! 
Nearer, for the wise ordeal 

That leads thee rough-shod o'er the stone, 
Till thou canst bravely bear the real. 

And trusting say, " Thy will be done !" 

Never upward look for Heaven, 

If no Heaven's begun below ; 
Never onward look for Heaven, 

For you pass it as you go. 
Never outward look for Heaven, 

Outward lies the slough of sin. 
The old corrupt, fermenting leaven — 

Look for Heaven alone within ! 



BESSIE BELL. 

I BREATHE thy name in sorrow, 
Bessie Bell ; 
There cometh no glad morrow 
My grief to quell — 



BESSIE BELL. 159 

Night's breezes softly sighing, 

Sadly tell, 
That thy head is lowly lying, 

Bessie Bell ! 



The whisp'ring prairie grasses 

Lightly wave. 
And the West wind softly passes 

O'er thy grave ! 
By the sunset's golden glory 

Angels tell 
Thy young love's mournful story, 

Bessie Bell ! 

And to me the angels bear it 

O'er the lea — 
And in my home I hear it, 

By the sea ; 
When the evening's purple splendor 

Crowns the dell, 
I hear their voices tender, 

Bessie BeH. 

I grieve for young buds gathered 

Ere their bloom — 
For flowers of feeling withered 

In the tomb ; 
But those angel sounds at even 

Softly tell 
Of transplanted flowers in heaven, 

Bessie Bell ! 



t6o BESSIE BELL. 

And I listen as their voices 

Come and go ; 
And m}^ bleeding heart rejoices 

That 'tis so. 
But still there comes a feeling 

Hard to quell — 
A wild thought o'er me stealing — 

Bessie Bell : 

I wonder if to mortals 

Loved like thee, 
There is bliss when Heaven's portals 

Open free? 
For thine eyes must see mine anguish, 

Thy heart swell, 
As for thee I sadly languish, 

Bessie Bell. 

But I vainly tell my sorrow 

To the sea ; 
From its blue arms springs the morrow- 

But not thee ! 
Oh ! when will sounds at even 

Softly tell, 
That I've follow'd thee to heaven, 

Bessie Bell.'' 



HESPERUS. l6l 



HESPERUS. 

LAMP of twilight ! Hesper, Venus, 
Silver censer, swung between us 
And the dazzling altar golden, 
Where the day burns as of olden — 
Art thou myth, or art thou real ? 
World of beauty, or ideal 
Bark of fable — ship of Argo, 
With the golden fleece for cargo ? 

Never in the darkling midnight 
Catch we glimpses of thy hid light — 
Tho' upon night's glinting stars' height 
Burns the fiery shield of Mars, bright — 
Tho' thro' the silvery horns of Taurus 
Saturn's white lamp glimmers o'er us, 
And to Lyra's tinkling tunes 
Dance Jupiter and all his moons 
In circling changes zodiacal — 
Thou, as ruler hierarchal, 
Seekest ministering angels. 
Whispering their blest evangels. 
Till the rosy morn is stealing 
In light ripples o'er that ceiling 
Bending its blue folds above us 
Like soft azure eyes that love us — 
Sometimes, then, we catch thy glances 
Where the Orient's bright wave dances. 

Beacon light of purest argent, 
Lapis-lazuli for margent — 
14* L 



1 62 HESPERUS. 

Hanging half-way 'twixt nocturnal 
Realms and climes of light supernal — 
Hesperus or Vesper, Venus, 
Is there aught in kind between us? 

Plodder in the fields of science, 
Off — I set thee at defiance ! — 
Tell me not, the planet's orbit 
Lies within ours — to absorb it 
So completely in the sun's light 
That our zenith thus it shuns quite — 
( Seemingly, at least,) 'tis so 
Hidden in the day-beam's glow ; 
Off'! nor mar my bright ideal 
With cold glimpses of the real. 

Let me thro' the twilight vapor 
Watch the lighting of the taper 
On the cloud-land shores of heaven, 
Past the sunset tides of even — 
Watch — as mariner the glimmer 
Of the lighthouse lamp's soft shimmer ! 

To my life-boat it is gleaming 
With an incandescent beaming. 
That has burned the grosser fires 
Of this mortal state's desires, 
To pale Purity's white ashes — 
And upon the silver flashes 
Rises (phoenix-like) the dove 
Of a deathless, holy love 
For the beautiful — the golden 
Age, we have not yet beholden — 



MT BIRD. 163 

When the morning stars again 
Shall take up the glad refrain 
They chanted when the Word was spoken, 
" Let there be light !"— and night was broken. 

Then, O Hesper, Vesper, Venus, 
Then the lay we'll chant between us ! 



MY BIRD. 

A DOWNY shape, half moulded. 
With shadowy pinions folded. 
Comes to me — a presence felt, scarce seen — as spirif 
wings that glance 
Thro' the starlight calm and holy, 
When the prayerful heart bows lowly. 
And the upturned eye is startled by a passing radiance. 
It pales and gleams, like light in dreams. 
The moonlight of a trance ! 

And I cannot give expression 
To the strangely sweet depression 
Stealing o'er my being, dreamily, until my soul unbars 
The gates of sense that bind it, 
And, without a look behind it. 
Takes the flood-tide that will bear it to its home among 
the stars — 
To regions bright, in-isled in light. 
Above earth's leaden jars ! 



164 MT BIRD. 

Then my bird of beauty, showing 
All its golden plumage — glowing 
Like the tropic tints that brighten where the fragrant 
spice trees grow — 
Sings to me the holy numbers, 
Such as lulled my infant slumbers. 
When the angel-\vatchers sung them in the blessed 
long-ago — 
While far away Life's billows play 
In noisy ebb and flow. 

Thro' the sunshine glancing brightly. 
And the star-gems flashing nightly. 
In the summer's golden prime as in the ermined Ice- 
king's reign — 
Comes this nestling of my bosom 
Lisfhtingf on some folded blossom 
In my heart, that gladly opens all its leaves into her 
strain ; 
Like the rose whose lips unclose 
When the bulbul tells his pain. 

Ah ! my doveling, none may prison 
The far-reachings of my vision 
When thy spirit tones I hear, and catch the gleaming 
of thy wings ; 
And cold earth can never bind me 
Where thy soft call may not find me. 
For I cast its shackles easily when thy dear music 
rings — 
Ah ! bird of mine, unto thy shrine 
My heart its tribute brings ! 



THE PENITENT MART. 1 65 



THE PENITENT MARY. 

SHE kneels, while from her downcast eyes 
Fast fall the blinding tears — 
As thro' her soul remorseful rise 
The sins of former years. 

With tears she bathes the Saviour's feet, 

And wipes them with her hair. 
Anoints with precious ointment sweet, 

And scatters perfume there ! 

The Pharisee, with scornful eye 
And proud, self-righteous thought. 

Scoffs to himself, and asketh, Why 
Such sacrifice is brought .f* 

But Jesus read his thoughts — and said, 

" Such offerings are sweet ; 
Thou never didst anoint my head, 

While she doth kiss my feet ! 

" Her sins are many, but the tears 
Her broken heart lets fall. 
Doth wash away the guilt of years — 
Make pure her offerings all ! 

" Her deep transgressions I erase. 
Because she loveth much : 
O ye who need not pardoning grace 
Can never love as such !" 



1 66 AN ALBUM DEDICATION. 

Then to the woman kneeling low — 
" Arise ! thy woes are o'er ; 

Depart in peace ! thy faith I know — 
Go thou, and sin no more !" 



AN ALBUM DEDICATION. 

THINE are leaflets of the heart, 
Album — bound in Friendship's name- 
Tho' no shrinking one hath part 

In the flaunting wreath of fame ! 
Yet like that sweet, modest flower 

Nestling in its leafy cot. 
Fidelity its blessed dower — 

They will breathe " Forget-me-not." 

Memory's tender buds will blend 

With the flowerets garnered here. 
Sealed in the pure name of " friend," 

With a smile and with a tear ; 
Whispering of some dear one still 

Tho' the turf lies on his breast. 
Causing plaintive chords to thrill 

In the hearts that loved him best. 

Youth and hope and happy love 
Here will tell their rosy dreams ; 

And faith will paint some silvery grove 
In-isled amid celestial streams ! 

Book ! may thy leaves be overblown 
By precepts pure as breath of even, 



KINDNESS. 167 

And in them may such seeds be sown 
As bear immortal fruit in heaven ! 



KINDNESS. 

O WHITE-WINGED angel, 
That holds the bright key 
Of the heart — what the tribute 

To offer to thee ? 
For thine is the wand 

Of the prophet, that brings 
From the rock in our bosom 

The deep hidden springs — 
Thou seraph, that ever 

Melodiously sings ! 

Oh life were a desert 

Bleak, dreary and bare. 
Whose depths we, tho' bold 

Would all-shrinkingly dare. 
Were it not that a green spot 

Now here and there lies — 
Sweet kindness ! mild beaming 

From soul-lighted eyes. 
The golden chain linking 

The earth and the skies ? 

The pure " benedzcite''' 
Laid on the grass, 



l68 KINDNESS. 

When silver dews spread 

Their soft palms as they pass. 
The "bread on the waters," 

That falls in sweet rain 
And springs in a green coat 

Of foliage again — 
A glorious hosanna 

From hillside and plain ! 

Oh, forth to the mountain-top, 

Man, when the day . 
Is driving the shadows 

And mist-shapes away — 
And see how new beauties 

Come out of the gloom, 
When smiling, sweet sunshine 

Is spreading its bloom — 
Like kindness, the one light 

This side of the tomb ! 

The sunshine we all. 

If we please, can impart, 
To chase the dark shadows 

From grief-shrouded heart, 
And call back to blossom 

Some fast-fading flower, 
That pines for the light 

Of a soft, sunny hour — 
O man ! why not cherish 

The heaven-grafted power? 

For the scroll of the star-script, 
At night's sparkling noon, 



CRUSHED. 169 

When glinting waves kiss 

The white sail of the moon, 
And silver-linked winds 

Breathe of flowery June — 
In jeweled notes pages 

A God-given tune, 
How His kindness vouchsafes us 

In darkness, such boon ! 



CRUSHED. 

A TRAMPLED rose-bud — nothing more 
I found it in a quiet stroll 
Where the great city's troubled roar 
Vexed not the pulses of my soul. 
A poor, pale, trodden flower — ah me ! 

Its velvet petals rudely torn, 
But keeping still the fragrancy 
That blessed a happier morn ! 

Ah ! what a sweet, pathetic psalm 

Upon its bruised leaves I traced. 
That shed upon my spirit balm 

And the deep scars of wrong effaced. 
I laid it on my heart, to keep 

The record fresh with grateful tears — 
Its perfume softly, while I weep, 

Steals upward with my prayers. 

For, brooding in a cloud, my soul 

Sat with a drooping, wounded wing, 
15 



170 CRUSHED. 

Where dark Despair's low thunders roll, 
And never comes a bird of spring. 

Crushed — crushed — the hope within me fled- 
Till this pale blossom spake so low, 

With perfumed lips that softly shed 
Forcriveness for the blow 

That left it bleeding I — and I heard 

The anthem on its fragrant breath, 
Till all my spirit-pinions stirred 

To its sweet song of Love in death I — 
Of love tliat conquered hate and scorn, 

And gave a sweet return instead — 
Oh ! a new sunshine lit the morn, 

And to my soul I said : 

" If a poor dying flower can give 

Aroma to the passing breeze, 
O soul, arise I up, up and live — 

Ye're worth ten thousand such as these ! 
For ye may soar on pinions bright 

To Saturn's rings of glittering gold — 
Orion's jeweled belt of light 

Grasp in thy daring hold — 

" Tread the blue fields of space afar — 

Stand even at the jasper door, 
That pitying angels leave ajar 

To lure thee heavenward evermore ! 
Oh what wrong can a fellow-worm 

Inflict to bow thee to the dust, 
When in thee lies th' immortal germ 

Of faith and holy trust? 



DEAD LEAVES. 171 

Be sure the rough-shod heel that left 

Its impress deeply, yet was meant 
To test thy strength — tlie rod that cleft 

The rock was in sweet mercy sent ! 
Then, soul, obey the hest — send forth 

Thy living water's sweet perfume ; 
Learn of this poor, crushed flower tliy worth — 

Thy birth-right, soul, resume ! 



DEAD LEAVES. 

OUT of the darkness comes a moan, 
As of one that grieves, 
Sisfhinof. in lowest, saddest tone, 
'• Dead leaves ! dead leaves !" 

Cometh it from the pallid lips 

Of the w^ve that brings 
Us tidings of the missing ships 

On its white wings ? 

There are no tears in the eyes of Night, 

And her ebon hair 
Is bound with a silver network bright. 

Her brow is clear. 

i wonder much whence comes the moan 

Under the eaves. 
With its mournful, mournful monotone — 

'•' Dead leaves ! dead leaves !" 



172 DEAD LEAVES. 

It cannot be the voice of the wind 

That I heard at play 
Where vervain and clematis twined ?- 

But then 'twas May ! 

Ah me ! how many hopes have lain 
Them down with the rose, 

Under the russet counterpane 
October throws ! 

I may not wonder, O Autumn wind, 
Why thus thy song grieves — 

A human tone in it I find, 
Wailing: — " Dead leaves !" 



'to 



Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, 
Go loves, hopes and fears ; 

Gay blossoms decay — gold promises rust- 
Rainbows leave tears ! 

Chant on the refrain, O mournful wind, 

My heart the dirge weaves. 
For down in its hollows I only find 

Dead leaves ! dead leaves ! 



FEAR NOT; IT IS I. 173 

FEAR NOT; IT IS I. 

" But He saith unto them, It is I ; be not afraid."— St. John vi. 20. 

THE tempest unfurls its black wing o'er the wave, 
And rides o'er the billows with glee ; 
The winds are let loose, and they franticly rave. 
And toss the white foam of the sea. 

A lone, little bark — like a waif on the tide — 

Is lifted a moment in air. 
Then gulphed in some monstrous wave's jaws, open 
wide — 

Her crew almost sunk in despair. 

They view their rent sails and their rudderless bark, 

And wildly for succor they cry ; ^ 
When, lo ! a bright Form w^alks the waves thro' the 
dark. 

And whispers — " Fear not ; it is I !" 

That voice ! — Oh what hope in each trembling breast 
Springs up, as its tones greet their ears ; 

No longer the tempest can cause them unrest — 
Those words have allayed all their fears. 

The winds at His bidding their fury assuage, 

The waters are stilled in their might ; 
A mild breeze doth blow — for the tempest's fierce 
rage — 
And anchors their frail bark aright. 
15 * 



174 ^ DREAM. 

*Tis thus when in life we are thrown on the waves — 

The dark-crested waves of despair ; 
When rudderless, sailless, the wild billow laves, 

And tosses our life-boat in air — 

That we feel all our efforts are fruitless and vain 

The tempest's wild fury to fly, 
And we cower 'neath its might — when there cometh 
again 

That soft voice — " Fear not ; it is I !" 

Yes, 'tis He who hath loosed o'er our wandering path 

The wild winds of passion and grief, 
To show us how vain is escape from their wrath 

Till we seek at His hands for relief! 

Then lift up your glances, ye grief-stricken ones — 

For can ye not surely descry 
That Jesus is near you in sorrow's deep groans, 

And whispers — " Fear not ; it is I?" 



A DREAM. 

I DREAMED :— and the curtain of night. 
With its sombre and cumbersome fold. 
Was lifted from off the dingles and dells 

Where the fairies their revels hold. 
I stood in the midst of their magic rings, 
And caught the buzzing of myriad wings, 



A DREAM. 175 

As the drowsy elves 

Were stirring themselves 

From flowery beds, 

Where their tiny heads 
Had slumbered the glaring day away, 
And waited the light of the moon's soft ray. 
Springing from rosebuds with frolic glee, 
Their fragrant breaths scenting all the lea ; 
Lifting the edges of curtains blue. 
On their violet couches I saw them too — 

Winking their eyes 

With pleased surprise 
To find that the hours of night had come ; 
The mystic time when Fay and Sprite 
Meet and mingle in glad delight, 
In their leafy forest home. 
A lazy glowworm, fat and old. 
Was lighting the green sward with sparks of gold, 
While every leaflet and tendril near 
Supported a fire-fly chandelier ; 
The acorn-cups with dew were filled, 
And the fragrant balsam was distilled 
From every flower. 
Which this witching hour 
To draw from each blossom has magic power. 

But lo ! while I looked, a soft sigh from the hills 
Parted the curtains of straw-color pale. 

That folded around the velvety bed 

Where a spell-bound immortal — a sprite of the vale — 

Had lain in a trance through each year's measured 
chime 

Till fivescore were marked on the dial of Time ! 



176 A DREAM. 

I caught the low whisper that rose 
From the flower-decked gentry around. 

And learned that the sprite, 

At noon of the night, 
Would awake from her long repose — 
Would girdle the earth with sparks of light 
Shook from her waving pinions bright, 
As forth from her sylvan dwelling-place 
A glimpse of the w^orld, and its jostling race, 
Would be shown to her gaze thro' dewy tears. 
Ere she slept again for a hundred years ! 
I heard the stroke of the midnight bell — 

Silverv and clear 

On my dreaming ear 
The mystic numbers fell ! 
As the ringing chime told the witching hour, 
Leaf after leaf of the lovely flower 
Oped its silken folds to the night — 
And at the last peal, the prisoned sprite 
Was borne on a fragrant sigh to earth. 
That the flower gave forth in giving her birth. 

Then, soft o'er my vision, a misty veil 
Curtained the woods and the fairy dale — 
And I seemed to be seated within a car 

Drawn by a purple dragon-fly. 
Who upward and onward thro' space afar 
Wafted me over the star-gemm'd sky — 
While by my side. 
In fairy pride, 
The tiniest thing. 
On gossamer wing. 
Thro' the blue ether went hovering ! 



A DREAM. 177 

Then round our planet, with speed of thought, 
Our magic journey was quickly wrought; 

So swift was our flight 

Thro' the dusky night. 
Leaving behind us a train of light — 

That to mortal eyes, 

That looked with surprise, 
'Twould seem that a meteor had cross'd the skies ! 
And then, on a silvery cloud, 

That floated above the mossy dell, 
We sank again to the fairy haunt 

And alighted upon a grassy fell. 
Where the cloud dissolved in a dewy mist, 
As our wandering feet the green sward kissed. 

Soon the busy little crew. 

In flowery jackets, pink and blue — 

Gathered round from far and near. 

The wonders of the world to hear. 

Every bush and every twig 

With its swarming life was big ; 

Hanging from their cobweb swings 

You might note the tiny things — 

Perched on clover blossoms round, 

Every bud was fairy crown'd, 

Open-mouthed and open-eyed — 

Yet the sprites seemed all tongue-tied ; 
Silently waiting until the bright Fay 
Dropped her pearls of thought by the way — 
Seedlings of price, and purchased with tears. 
She sowed them but once in a hundred years ! 

The oracle spoke : " Oh, sister fays ! 
Our paths have been traced o'er pleasant ways — 

M 



lyS A DREAM. 

We have lived in the streamlet, the fount, the grot. 

In leafy chamber, or flowery cot ; 

Our palace columned with mighty trees — 

(No sculptor's art ere rivaled these !) 

And for carpets the downy moss has been given, 

While our dome was the spangled arch of heaven ! 

Rejoice that from sorrow and pain and strife 

We've been free to lead our happy life ; 

That as the lilies our lot has been — 

We have toiled not, neither did we spin. 

Yet garments of light we've been clothed in ! 

I have flown from the shade of our woody glen 

Far over the busy haunts of men — 

I have looked deep down in the human heart, 

And seen the same warring passions start — 

The loves, the hatreds, the hopes, the fears 

Have altered not in a hundred years ; 

Only the actors have passed away 

And sleep 'neath the rnould of the churchyard clay, 

While a new race their places fill. 

Grieving, rejoicing and toiling still ! 

Proud cities have risen where forests stood, 

And rivers have swelled with human blood ; 

The loom and shuttle make music now 

Where the herd's boy once led his thirsty cow ; 

The thundering engines shriek and scream 

Where the jolly ploughman drove his team ; 

And nau2:ht is heard but the roar and rattle 

Of vast machinery doing battle — 

Of wdiizzing steam, with whoop and hollo — 

And the jingling o'er all of the mighty dollar ! 

'Tis an iron age, and the heart of man 

Is turning to iron as fast as it can ! 



A DREAM. 179 

When another century is flown, 

And a glimpse of the world I again am shown, 

I shall vainly search for some flowery glade 

Which the iron heel doth not invade ; 

With our woodland haunts we then must part, 

And Nature must give place to Art. 

Rejoice while ye may. 

For your happy day 
Is passing away — passing away ; 

No room will there be 

For flower, bush or tree 
For fairies to dwell in, in harmony. 

The petrified lands. 

With their iron bands. 
Will harden and harden as art expands ; 
And fairy life will no longer be 
Even a tale for the nursery — 

For children then 

Will be miniature men. 
And will snap their fingers with mocking glee 
At the thought of such little folks as we ! 
Farewell ! I have warned you, rejoice while you may, 
For your happy reign is passing away !" 

I, starting, awoke, and still heard the lay — 
" Passing away ! passing away !" 



I So SONG OF THE PEN. 

SONG OF THE PEN. 

A PARODY. 

WITH fingers bespattered with ink, 
And stumpy, nibbled pen, 
Which flew with his thoughts o'er the paper white. 

And then was nibbled again ; 
Surrounded with parchment and " proof," 

In his literary den — 
An editor sat in his easy-chair 
And sang this Song of the Pen. 

" Scratch ! scratch ! scratch ! 

From dawn till the midnight's chime — 
Scratch ! scratch ! scratch ! 

Till the day bursts forth in its prime. 
And it's oh to drive a quill — 

To flourish and rave and rant ; 
To please all tastes with a master's skill. 

And to think for those that can't ! 

" To wield a magic power. 

More potent than sword or spear — 
That charms men's minds with its witchery, 

Or thrills them with its fear. 
To breathe a sigh for the sad — 

A roundelay for the gay — 
And a mournful dirge for the young and glad 

That have passed in their bloom away. 

"Think! think! think! 

Tho' the fevered arteries beat ; 



SONG OF THE PEN. l8l 

And think and write and think, 

Tho' weaving a winding-sheet ! 
Write ! write ! write ! 

On the rolling years of time, 
A sounding name for the trump of fame, 

To echo from clime to clime ; 

" Scratch ! scratch ! scratch ! 

The paper — then the head. 
For a stray idea that is loitering near 

But has to be coaxed ere led ! 
And it's oh to be a king ! 

And an inky sceptre sway, 
While lords of the earth and titled ones 

My mystic scratch obey. 

" To scorch with the lightning's power, 

Or soothe with soft music's skill — 
To light the blaze in rebellion's hour. 

Or the flickering flame to still ; 
To rule with a sovereign's might, 

' The camp — the court — the grove — ' 
Make the sword to leap from its scabbard bright, 

Or attune the heart to love ! 

" To wave my feathery wand 

O'er the mighty realms of Thought — 
And see from the tombs of the past the blooms 

Of forgotten ages brought ! 
And it's oh for a point of fire ! 

To trace o'er heaven's blue scroll 
In letters of flame, my well-earned fame 

To blazon from pole to pole !" 
16 



l82 SADNESS. 

With a brow of " D 1-may-care," 

And a face unlike other men, 
The editor sat in his dusty chair 

And sang this Song of the Pen. 
Scratch ! scratch ! scratch ! 

There is truth in every word — 
For nine out of ten will own that '' the Pen 

Is mightier than the Sword !" 



SADNESS. 
A PARAPHRASE. 

PALE spirit of sadness ! 
Thou cypress-crown'd and dark-brow'd daughter, 
why 

Dost thou — 
Shadowing our gladness — 
Shroud with thy gloomy wings our sunlit sky 
And brow? 
From what cold realm afar. 
Linked to our earth by chains of tears and bands 
Of sighs — 
Cometh thy floating car? 
Its shadow frightens hope, who waves her hands 
And flies. 

Whether joy smiles around, 
Or calm content spreads stores of peace, of bliss, 
And love — 
Sudden there comes a sound, 



SADNESS. I S3 

Booming across our Memory's ocean — this, 
Above 
The ringing bells of mirth, 
The soft, low murmurs of content, and love's 
Sweet word — 
Comes with the knell of earth, 
To tell of parting joys — like mourning doves 
'Tis heard. 

It is thy voice, O pale 
And sorrowing priestess of a shrine whose lamp 
In glooms 
Thou guardest ! [ 'Tis a frail 
And feeble flame, fed with the mould and damp 
Of tombs.] 
Our spirit at the sound. 
Turns with a shudder from bright, sunny hope, 
And hears 
Low dirges floating round — 
Sees shadows, spectral forms round graves that mope 
In tears. 

'Tis mystery all, the spell 
By which thou hold'st the mirror of our heart. 
And by 
A little breath can tell 
How soon its polished brightness may depart ; 
A sigh 
Can cloud its surface o'er, 
Tho' breathed o'er beds of flowers — and thus in halls 
Of mirth. 
Thou wak'st a thought to soar 
And bring us back the past, with all its palls 
Of earth ! 



184 ''marah: 



"MARAH/' 

SHUT out the sunshine — hide me where 
I cannot see it play : 
Low tide has laid the wild rocks bare 
Within my heart to-day ! 

I would not give the poor return 

Of tears and weary sighs 
To the bright lamps of love that burn 

So clear in Day's blue eyes. 

For blue and kind her eyes look down 

On all — ay, e'en on me — 
But bitter waters welling, drown 

The light I may not see. 

And if I sing 'tis but the foam 

That surges o'er the waves 
Of deeper feeling as they come 

From Memory's ocean-graves. 

I know this tide of bitterness 

Will sweep from oft^ my soul 
The chafing waifs of wretchedness, 

That will not brook control. 

And then, God's blessed sunshine in 

A golden flood may pour. 
And May, with flowery promise, win 

My footsteps to her door ; 



B RAVER r. 185 

And peeping from the roses, June 

Will send her hummino: bees 
To sing me many a quaint old tune 

Beneath her spreading trees. 

And summer's eve hang in the sky 

A silver-threaded moon — 
And starry radiance shine on high 

At midnight's sparkling noon ; 

And in my heart of hearts I'll sing 

With Nature, love and praise ! 
Forgetful of the waves that bring 

Me, sometimes, weary days. 

And from my " Marah-fount" I'll stray 

To where the palm trees rise, 
And rest me at the close of day 

Beneath peace-whispering skies : 

So, shut the sunshine out, and let 

The bitter mood pass by — 
The gilded bow of promise yet 

Will span my tearful sky ! 



BRAVERY. 

WHAT is bravery ? 
Is it to spurn the yoke, the galling chain 
That rusts the eaglet's wings ? 

To clip the bonds of slavery? 
16* 



lS6 BR AVERT. 

A.h ! may'st not be Ambition's voice that sings 

The thriUing strain 
Which men obey and call it bravery ? 

" Liberty or death !" 
The hero cries — " we w^ill be free or die !" 

He bursts the fetters, and 

He stands a demigod — the breath 
Of acclamation yields to him command ; 

He who would fly 
From fate ( not brave enough to live) to death ! 

There's a bravery 
Unknown to fame — the courage to endure ! 

Hopeless, to live ; when death 

Would end the spirit's slavery. 
It is not much to yield a little breath 

Our woes to cure — 
But ah ! to face them is true bravery ! 

Oh ! call that soul 
A hero's which looks mildly on while fate 

Fills high his cup, and sees 

Her bitter drug the golden bowl ; 
Then calmly drains the chalice to the lees. 

And with his mate, 
Stern, cold Misfortune, smiling goes — Brave soul ! 

That is bravery, 
Which faces worlds in battling for the right, 
Nor dreads the frown of man — 
Yielding no bigot slavery 



TO * * *, igy 

To public voice ; but, conscience in the van 

And heaven in sight, 
Goes firmly on — oh, that is bravery ; 



TO 



** Man is a creature — creatures are thoughts of God." — Mesmeric 
Revelations: E. A. PoE. 

IF so, oh what a sweet, quaint thought 
The All-pei-vading mind 
Evolved, and gave it shape in thee ; 
As in the wild Anemone' 
Embodied is the wind ! 

The sunny phases of thy heart 

Gleam as a golden ray 
Of spring-time, when the red lips part 

Of odor-breathing day. 
And on the painted leaves we read 

The message of the May ! 

And when a mood of sadness vails 

The sunlight of thy song. 
The breath of Araby exhales 
Less dewy, soft, ambrosial gales 

Than steal its depths along — 
Wrapping a silvery mist of tears 

Round paths that angels throng ! 



1 88 AN EVANGEL. 

For angels are not myths, they wing 

Their viewless way to earth, 
And by the hallow'd hearth-stone sing. 

Where such as thee have birth. 
They come and ope the new-born eyes 
Unto all secrets 'neath the skies — 
Unseal the clasp of Nature's book 
And bid the favored foundling " Look !" 

And thus thy soul's a printed page 
Of golden lessons, sweet yet sage ; 
A wondrously fashioned thought 
Divine, in human semblance, wrought 
Of infinite and finite gleams. 
Like angel-peopled mortal dreams — 
The earth-embodiment we see 
Of some seraphic fantasy ! 



AN EVANGEL. 

A RIFTED leaf went quivering by 
Beneath the blue of heaven ; 
A yellow leaf — and summer's sigh . 

Passed with the breath of even. 
It was a weird messenger 

Of darkness and decay — 
A lonely, mournful traveler, 

To point the weary way 
The sexton wind would surely pass 

To bury all the flowers, 



AN EVANGEL. 189 

And leave his spade upon the grass, 
His mattock in the bowers. 

And still as deeper grew the e'en, 

A blood-red dome raised high 
Its disk above the clouds between 

The earth and crimsoned sky ; 
And purple floods of glory shone 

Down golden vistas bright, 
Till darkness clasped a starry zone 

Around the waist of Night. 
And then I knew September kept 

Within her burnished hall 
An orgy wild, and never wept 

O'er summer in her pall. 

I questioned then the sleepless Night 

Upon her ebon car 
Chasing the fiery steeds of light. 

Led by the Vesper star — 
And asked, " What meed is to be won 

Within the round of years. 
That Summer's golden belt's undone 

When Autumn's finger sears — 
And King October's crown of grain 

Falls 'neath old Winter's snows. 
That yield when April's tender rain 

Is kissing up the rose.'"' 

And low and sweet a voice came out 
The starry sweep, and said — 
" O man ! the wisdom do not doubt. 
That hath these changes made ; 



190 REMEMBRANCE. 

From evil still evolving good — 

The wholesome lesson see, 
And o'er it deeply, humbly brood, 

'Twas w^-itten all for thee ! 
E'en in the storm-cloud's angry din 

A golden page appears — 
The prism-bow^ of promise in 

A baptism of tears !" 



REMEMBRANCE. 



A 



DOUBLE chain, 
Linking pleasure fast with pain, 
Remembrance is ! 
A mystic web, 
That holds of every tide the ebb 

That stranded bliss ! 

" Ah ! I remember, I remember, 

'Twas a bleak and cheerless e'en 
When the leaden-eyed December 

Hid the flowers with snowy screen. 
That I listed words from Lulie, 

Sitting by the glowing hearth — 
That, like the Fairy's words, were truly 

Pearls to me of untold worth. 
But midsummer's morn nov^' gleameth 

Cold as ice-belt in December — 
Lulie's dead !" The old man dreameth, 

And his dream is, " I remember !" 



SPACE. 191 

A subtle loom, 
Weaving churchyard mould to bloom, 
Remembrance is — 
A soft ray thrown 
From that far world beyond our own, 
To lighten this ! 

I remember, I remember, 

One pale rosebud bloomed for me ; 
But a blast from chill November 

Nipt it from the lonely tree ; 
And I mourned the tender blossom 

Rudely rifted from my love. 
Till a chord within my bosom. 

Thrilling to a strain above. 
Told of buds transplanted, glowing 

Far beyond earth's hot-house ember ! 
Novsr a thankful song is flowing 

From my heart as I remember. 



SPACE. 



BLUE mystery" — unfathomed Space ! 
Suns run their golden rounds. 
And silver-girdled planets pace 

.Upon thy jeweled mounds. 
O waveless sea ! whose silent tide 

Drifts on, unceasingly — 
How lost is pigmy man's poor pride 
In thy immensity ! 



192 SPACE, 

Where lead thy circling aisles ? Where end 

The paths the stars have trod 
Since time began? And where, where wend 

The chargers, silver shod. 
Bounding along thy dizzy heights ? 

How the soul yearns to cleave 
Thy depths, and learn what hand ignites 

The bow the rain-drops weave ? 

What viewless helmsman steers each bark 

Thy shoreless ocean thro'. 
And pilots o'er the misty dark 

Of thy unsounded blue ? 
What mighty arm upholds each prow ? 

What magnet o'er the tide 
Since first creation dawned, as now, 

Has proved a steadfast guide ? 

Oh, on 3'e sweep, ye tireless hosts, 

Thro' the arched halls of night — 
And vainly man, tho' loud his boasts, 

Grasps for your crowns of light ! 
Earth's golden mines beneath his feet 

Have spread their glittering store, 
But space has caverns more complete, 

No dross dims their bright ore ! 

Oh for angelic feet to tread 

Above these mortal bars, 
Holding by ether's azure thread 

Strung with the silver stars ! 
Oh never saint on rosary 

Could tell devouter prayer 



THE ARCTIC EXPLORERS. 193 

Than, jewel-beads, I'd breathe o'er thee, 
A Gloria Patri there ! 



And when the mandate shall go forth 

That from flesh sets me free — 
Shall my soul learn the secret birth 

Of worlds? — and space, of thee? 
Oh I could rend these fleshy bars. 

If they shut from me these — 
And up yon sparkling stair of stars 

Learn all its mysteries ! 



THE ARCTIC EXPLORERS. 

" There must be some warm southern area over which this wind 
comes — some open water, it may be, that is drawing nearer to us, to 
minister after a time to our escape. But we must go alone. I have 
given up all hope of rescuing our little vessel. She has been a safe- 
guard and home for us through many lengthened trials; but her time 
has come. She can never float above the waves again. How many 
of us are to be more fortunate ?" — Dr. Kane's Arctic Explorations. 

COLDLY the mooa looks down 
On gnarled hills and measureless plains. 
On glittering crags where the frost king reigns — 
The giant king, whose death-like hand 
Fetters alike the sea and land ; 
Who checks the waves in their maddest race. 
And holds them fast in his cold embrace, 

Or curdles them with a frown ! 
17 N 



94 I' HE ARCTIC EXPLORERS. 

His prototype above — 
The ghostly moon, with her chill, pale ray. 
Silvers his palace walls so gray — 
Gleams o'er his icy-jeweled home, 
While the lesser lamps of his azure dome, 
The twinkling stars, from the roof on high, 
Lend their scintillant brilliancy 

While they look their love. 

What venturous foot shall dare 
Break the awful silence that reigns around? 
Thro' the glittering chambers there comes no sound 
To tell of life ; the enchanter's spell 
Is breathed o'er all, and it worketh well — 
The moaning surf as it nears the shore 
Closes white lips o'er the stifled roar, 

As it meets the deadening air. 

The very tear-drops shed 
By pitying angels for guilty man, 
Since first his sin-stained race began — 
Which come in the shape of gentlest showers, 
And call into life spring's earliest flowers — 
Are greeted here by the icy breath 
Of the tyrant grim, and a snowy wreath 

They form around his head ! 

Oh brave must be the heart, 
And strong: the nerve and firm the will — 
The conscience firmer, stronger still — 
Of the mortal who, for his fellow-man. 
Will come within reach of the giant's span ; 



THE ARCTIC EXPLORERS. 195 

Who for good of his kind will sacrifice self — 
Whose soul is not bartered for sordid pelf 
On mammon's crowded mart. 

Can such be found on earth ? 
Ah yes ! Look abroad o'er this icy domain, 
Where hummock and ridge and frozen plain 
On every side around we view ; 
What see we here ? 'Tis a gallant crew, 
That has stood the storm and braved the gale, 
Until spirits, health and resources fail. 

And hope has no longer birth. 

With trusting hearts they sought 
This frozen clime, for a purpose high 
Shone o'er each brow — flashed from each eye ; 
A god-like hope — that to them would be 
The fame of solving the mystery. 
Shut from man by the ponderous gate, 
Upon whose portal the genie sate 

Whose touch had this barrier wrought. 

And also, with manly faith. 
They sought for some clue to a brother's path. 
Who, like them, had braved the giant's wrath — 
Had ventured within the enchanted ring. 
Heard the mermaid moan and the siren sing. 
But had ne'er returned to repeat the lay 
To the anxious ears that far away 

Awaited the faintest breath. 

And now the trusty band. 
Their numbers lessened by Death's grim stealth. 
With wornout frames and shattered health, 



196 THE ARCTIC EXPLORERS. 

And scarcely enough of remaining life 
To brave the last, the final strife — 
But with souls still strong in earnest faith, 
Look to a mightier Power than Death 
To guide to their native land ! 

With thoughtful brows and grave, 
They gather to take their last farewell 
Of the noble bark that has borne them well 
Thro' blinding storm and deafening gale, 
O'er bergy seas, w^iere stout hearts would quail- 
Their ark of safety thro' trials great ; 
But now dismantled and desolate, 

No more can she meet the wave. 



Forgive the starting tear. 
That manly cheeks should ne'er blush to own — 
Which the long, cold night of this frozen zone 
Has failed to chill in its source, the heart ! 
And moistens the eye when the hour to part 
Draws near — With their comrades' graves in view. 
And thoughts of the home they are going to. 

And the cheerless home left here. 

No mockery of cheers. 
No festal song sped the parting hour — 
In silence all felt the Spirit's power ! 
A whispered prayer from each heart arose 
For a safe deliverance from all their woes ; 
And the bark is left for good or ill. 
With " the same ice around her still" 

That first aroused their fears. 



THE ARCTIC EXPLORERS. 197 

'Twere long to tell the tale 
Of the thousand dangers of sea and land, 
That around, above them, on every hand 
Beset their path, as they sought escape 
From icy floe and frozen cape — 
Launched their frail boats, with bending forms, 
And gave them " to the god of storms. 

The lightning and the gale !" 

Heard was the prayer of faith ! 
The cherub sweet that aloft doth smile, 
Watching the life of "poor Jack" the while 
Guided the boats thro' tempests drear— 
Thro' whirling pool and eddy near — 
To the iron-bound steamer's friendly side, 
Sent by their brother man, to guide 

From the icy realms of Death. 

Let the welkin ring again ! — 
Ring with the paeans of triumph gay, 
That attest the power of that nation's sway, 
Whose hardy sons, with a purpose bold. 

Have bearded the ice-king in his hold ! 

Ring with the praise of the gallant crew. 

And their brave commander, staunch and true— - 

The noble Doctor Kane ! 
17 «- 



19^ THE SIREN'S SONG. 



THE SIREN'S SONG 

UNDER the sea ! under the sea ! 
Come hither, come hither, and dwell with me ! 

Under the wave, 

In a pearly cave. 
The sparkling foam thy brow shall lave, 
The fever-heat from thy pulse shall fly 
Under our crystal canopy — 

While the mossy bed 

For thy weary head 
In a rose-tinted shell for thee shall be spread. 
Leave to gross mortals the dull, sad earth. 
Where sin and sorrow for aye have birth — 

Down in the deep 

Even tears that ye weep 
Are turned into pearls 'neath the wave to sleep ! 

Come away, mariner, come away ; 
'Neath the green billows our sisters play — 

Their snowy feet 

On the bright sands beat. 
Keeping time to the sound of their voices sweet ; 
O'er their fair bosoms flow locks of gold. 
Curtains bright round thy brow to fold, 

When thy weary head. 

On such soft pillows laid. 
Is lulled to repose 'neath the wavelet's shade. 
An amber couch for thee we'll spread, 
With coral branches overhead — 



THE SIREN'S SONG. 199 

And the moaning shell 
Shall softly tell 
How 'neath the bright billow thou sleepest well ! 



Come, my brave ! come, my brave ! 

Fear not to plunge in the dimpling wave — 

« We've a dolphin near 

For thy charioteer. 
Thy course to our Opal Halls to steer ! 
From yon blue heaven, a bashful star 
Peeped at itself in our depths afar — 

Ere the trembling ray 

Could steal away 
We caught it, to light thee on thy way ! 
Diamonds and rubies and sapphires blue, 
And emeralds, which tell when a fond heart's true, 

Shall mingle their blaze, 

With rainbow rays. 
To please and delight thy raptured gaze. 

Dream no more ! dream no more ! 

Hie thee away from the cold, cold shore, 

To our coral cells. 

Where love ever dwells — 
No sorrows, no sighs, no sad farewells ! 
What is it the wave doth whisper o'er. 
As with dewy lip it kisseth the shore ? 

Doth it not say — 
" Come, come away ! 
Down in the deep there is peace alway !" 
Then come, oh come ! to the grottoes deep. 
And be lulled to a long and dreamless sleep 



200 FRIENDSHIP'S EVENING STAR. 

'Neath a silvery wave 
In an ocean cave — 
Oh sweeter far than an earthly grave ! 



FRIENDSHIP'S EVENING STAR. 

[ Dedicated to Mrs. E. G. N.] 

I'D learned to scoff at Friendship's name, 
And call it empty air— 
A will-o'-wisp, a churchyard flame, 
A meteoric glare — 

A foam-flake on the sea of life — 

A bubble on the wave, 
To vanish in the whirling strife 

Where wrecking billows rave ; 

For I had launched on Friendship's stream 

Full many a trusting light — 
Like those on Ganges' tide that gleam, 

Which Hindoo maids ignite 

With trembling hands, and wreathe with flowers, 

And give unto the wave ; 
But not one flame my feeble powers 

From currents deep could save. 

My sun of favor set at night 

'Mid fierce clouds, lowering dark, 



FRIENDSHIP'S EVENING STAR. 20l 

And Hope withdrew her beacon light 
From my dismantled bark. 

The storm-fiends held me in their span 
Where wild waves maketh war — 

No kindly hand to drowning man 
Would throw a friendly straw. 

'Twas then upon my shrouded skies 

A mild beam from afar 
Broke cheeringly — my weary eyes 

Hailed it, " Sweet Evening Star !" 

It was the smile on thy dear face, 

O friend of darkest days ! 
The smile of kindness, that can chase 

All demons doubt may raise ; 

The holy Power, that lays the ghost 

Of fell Despair to rest — 
The leader of the starry host 

Of virtue — Heaven's best ! 

I hail thee, Hesper of my soul ! 

Light sent from realms afar 
To gild the waves that round me roll — 

My Friendship's Evening Star ! 



202 BOUNTIFUL AND LITTLE GRUMBLER. 



FAIRY BOUNTIFUL AND LITTLE GRUM- 
BLER. 

( A fairy tale, written for my little Cousin Mary.) 

" T HAVE no work and I'm tired of play — 
X What shall I do with myself to-day? 
My doll has a broken arm, and looks 
Quite shabby — I've no new story books ; 
My kitten is cross as cross can be, 
And spreads her spiteful claws at me — 
And Ponto opens and shuts his eyes 
When I pat him, just as he does at the flies — 
My birdie's head is under his wing, 
A lump of sugar won't make him sing — 
Mamma, too, tells me to go away, 
She's busy, and I must run and play, 
Oh dear ! oh dear ! what shall I do ? 
I wish that fairy tales were true. 
And then I'd soon have a pumpkin round 
Changed to a golden coach, and bound 
Away, away, over dale and hill. 
And not, with my head on this window-sill. 
Sit wearily watching the clouds go by 
Like white-wing'd doves o'er the far blue sky ; 
Or trying to count the motes that run 
Like sands of gold in the rays of the sun — 
But Ponto, Kitty and little me 
Should coachman, footman and princess be ; 
And when I waved my jeweled hand 
We'd off and away to Fairyland, 



BOUNTIFUL AND LITTLE GRUMBLER. -03 

Where puffy beetles in vests of green 
Would hold a leafy fan between 
Us and the glaring light of the day — 
And when I trod the flowery way, 
Upon the grass and the bending twigs, 
The lace-wing'd moths, in powdered wigs, 
Like courtly pages, should me await — 
And butterfly grooms ope the lily gate 
Of the bright parterre of the Fairy Qiieen, 
And point to her throne of emerald green. 
Where stately dahlias, like courtiers old. 
In purple velvet and cloth of gold. 
Should nod reproof at the merry trees 
Shaking with laughter, when the breeze 
Tossed the Peony's fiery hair 
Or stirred the bee from his buckwheat lair. 
Oh, how I w^ish it were only so, 
And I to those fairy realms could go ! 
But dear ! oh dear ! it can never be — " 

She paused, for a sweet voice said, " Come with 
me !" 

And looking up, she saw, with surprise, 

A sprite, in a vest made of glow-worms' eyes — 

A slender creature with veined wings 

Like a spider's web of gossamer rings. 

A blue inverted harebell made 

For her dainty cheek a delicate shade. 

And curling tendrils of cypress vine 

Round her peach-blossom robe were taught to twine. 

While a sparkling dew-drop, solitaire.^ 

Gleamed like a star on her forehead fair — 



204 BOUNTIFUL AND LITTLE GRUMBLER. 

And her eyes, so radiant yet mildly bright, 

Shone with the calm of full moonlight. 

She held a green ^vitch-hazel wand 

In the pearly clasp of her tiny hand. 

And with it drew three mystic rings 

Round the wondering child, when silken wings 

From her shoulders sprang in graceful sweep ; 

Then bidding her beside her keep, 

A\Vay, away, over hill and plain. 

They sought the wealth of the Fay's domain. 

" I am the Fairy Bountiful !" 
Spake the sprite, " and my ears, not being dull, 
To your sad, complaining tone gave heed ; 
I've a story-book for you to read. 
That, mayhap, you never have read before, 
Tho' it was lettered and paged in days of yore ; 
And so I have brought you along with me 
To read it under the greenwood tree. 
'Tis full of riddles and pictures too. 
Which, tho' old, still ever seemeth new — 
And every lesson will first be plain 
To the heart, and then to the duller brain ; 
Till at last the scales will fall from the eyes, 
That will dance with joy in their glad surprise 
To know that they see as fairies can 
What is hidden from gross, worldly man. 
So, look you first at this dusty page, 
And I'll point out its maxim sage. 
What do you see ?" — 

" Only a roll 
Like a withered leaf." 

" We will part the scroll 



BOUNTIFUL AND LITTLE GRUMBLER. 205 

And look for the treasure that lies within : 
Some silken threads that a worm can spin, 
Finer than floss and white as the moon, 
Wove by a grub in a dim cocoon. 
But fit for the royal robe of a queen, 
And in kings' palaces may be seen ! 
And thus saith the picture unto you : 
' See what a little worm can do ! 
I do not fret like you silly things, 
But I work in the dark till I find my wings : 
Go, little child, and learn of me. 
Spin your own cocoon if you would be free !'" 

" Here is a riddle we'll pause and read, 
On a gay illumined page indeed — 
It seemeth a garden fill'd with flowers, 
And some are bright as the noontide hours. 
And spread their radiant hues to the day 
With a flaunting air that seemeth to say. 
Who so worthy of praise as they? 
While others shrink from the glaring light. 
And try to keep quite out of sight. 
Drawing green veils o'er their faces meek 
That are only lifted to those who seek. 
But the gaudy ones are scentless, all, 
Tulip, sun-flower, hollyhock tall. 
Prince's feather and Guelder rose. 
Breathe no balm when their lips unclose — 
But under her green leaf the violet sweet 
Keeps a choice perfume thy touch to greet ; 
This homely little acacia holds 
An Eastern odor within the folds 
18 



2o6 BOUNTIFUL AND LITTLE GRUMBLER. 

Of her yellow hair — and hyacinth true, 

Has nectar hid in her cup of blue. 

Canst tell what it means ?" said the gentle fay. 

" No ! read me the riddle, dear fairy, pray !" 

" Well, learn of the flowers, my little friend, 
That outside show will never lend 
The secret spell by which modest worth 
Throws fragrance round the lowliest hearth 
And charms the proudest of the earth ! 

"But, come you are tired of riddles, I see — • 
I heard you a princess wish to be ; 
I'll make you one if you promise to use 
Aright your powers, and not abuse ; 
And handmaids fair shall on you wait. 
And porters sit at your royal gate — 
But wield your sceptre well, I pray. 
Or your palace walls shall fall in a day. 
First, I will clothe you in robes of state — 
Your crown shall be health, a diadem great ! 
Your throne, the golden seat of mind ! 
Your garments, all loyal thoughts and kind ; 
Your maids of honor, sweet Patience, Love, 
Faith, Hope and Charity, meek-faced dove ! 
And gentle Mercy, with pleading eyes 
Uplifted to her home in the skies ; 
And stern-brow' d Duty must have a place, 
Tho' harsh the lines of her homely face — 
Obey her mandates, tho' seeming hard ; 
You'll find they'll bring their own reward. 



WOMEN VERSUS LADIES. 207. 

Then for your guardsmen, good and wise, 

Brave Honor, sacred in men's eyes, 

And Truth, whose shaft unerring flies, 

I'll give — and Justice, and Conscience, too. 

And Will, shall be servitors to you — 

And your wide domain the World ! Go forth, 

And learn therein the wondrous worth 

Of the fairy's gifts, O little girl ! 

Nor waste them — neither play the churl — 

But like the little ant, that tills 

The golden sand into countless hills, 

And hordes her stores for a wintry day — 

Oh work, my darling, while yet you may, 

Nor spend thy time in repinings vain — 

Thy precious time that ne'er comes again. 

Life was not meant to be passed in play, 

And youth is its golden harvest-day ! 

Awake ! awake ! you are sleeping still, 

With your head on this sunny window-sill 

Awake ! O dreamiest of little girls. 

For Nature's the fairy that speaks these pearls !" 



WOMEN VERSUS LADIES. 

FLIRTING a fan or fanning a flirt, 
Lifting the light 'broidered flounce from the 
dirt- 
Mincing and tittering, flippant and pert, 
Fawning on wealth, but to poverty curt. 
Flits a thing we call " lady !" 



2o8 WOMEN VERSUS LADIES. 

Ready to faint when a cut finger bleeds, 
But dead to Humanity's deep-wounding needs — 
Weeping o'er Fiction's young wadow in weeds, 
While Reality's mourner too oft vainly pleads 
With the sensitive lady ! 

Fondling a poodle, or flattering a cur 
Of the genus called '•'' homd^ — (no matter, to her, 
If four legs or two legs the creatures transfer 
To her presence — all puppies, 'tis well known, confer 
A delight to the lady !) 

Leafing the Journal of Fashion, to see 
What styles are the latest for breakfast or tea, 
In order aufait of such mysteries to be. 
Is as far as desire for knowledge takes the 
Not over-stock'd lady ! 

Married or single, the creature we know. 
For nothing is like her that we see below ! — 
Painted and padded, on fantastic toe, 
In the vortex of folly to ruin, just so 
Whirls many a lady. 

Fathers and brothers and husbands assert — 
And swear by the rents in a buttonless shirt ! — 
That a man should take care how he marries a flirt, 
If he would not eat more than his "peck full" of dirt 
With a wife that's a lady ! 

But who are the honored In Scripture, for all 
The blessings conferred upon man since his fall ? 



WOMEN VERSUS LADIES. 209 

Who first at the sepulchre hasted to call, 
That they might anoint Him, and saw that the pall 
Was removed ? — Who but women ? 

Who let fall on His feet a meek, penitent tear, 
And then wiped it off with her long flowing hair ? 
A woman ! — And to whom did the Saviour appear 
When he'd risen? A woman ! — Who, afar off, in fear. 
Looked on w^hen he died ? Women ! 

For " ladies," if such things existed, did not 
Engage in these duties so holy. The lot 
Was cast to dear woman, whose heart selfish blot 
Never stains ! In Life's desert the verdure-clad spot 
Is the warm heart of woman ! 

The heart that with truthfulness throbs for all woe, 
And sends from the soft eye sweet sympathy's flow — 
The light gliding feet, ever ready to go 
Where wretchedness murmurs its agonies lo^v — 
These the dower of women ! 

As daughter, as sister, as mother, as wife. 
In all blest relations that make up her life. 
The pleader, the counselor, stayer of strife — 
Tho' feeling, perhaps, the sharp edge of the knife 
She has turned — we find woman ! 

Man's friend from the cradle unto the dark grave — 
(Alas ! oft his drudge and his badly-used slave !) 
Oh, strong in her weakness, how oft does she brave 
What heroes would shrink from, her loved ones to save ! 

Then most honored be woman ! 

18 * 



2 lO C OJVS OLA TION. 



CONSOLATION. 



s 



HE is dead ! 
Waxen lily, perfume fled, 
Lay her in her coffin bed. 

Mother fair, 
Anguished father kneeling there, 
Cease your wild, distracted prayer ! 

Angel bands. 
Golden harps within their hands, 
Wait upon celestial strands. 

Where the tide. 
Rolling o'er Death's ocean wide. 
Bears your loved one to their side. 

" Come away !" 
Called they to her, night and day — 
*' Earth is dark, no longer stay : 
Here no night 
Comes to dim our radiant light — 
Here no sin, no sorrows blight. 

" Come, come now, 
While the seal upon thy brow 
Radiates how pure art thou ! 

Happier home 
Awaits thee 'neath His blessed dome 
Who said to little children, ' Come !'" 

She has passed 
The barrier which we all at last 

Must leap ! How blest the lot so cast !- 



THE DYING TEAR. 211 

Thus to go, 
Without a stain of sin or woe, 
From the dark journey here below ! 

Let no gloom 
Shroud her form — from flower-deck'd room 
Bear her to no ponderous tomb : 

'Neath the sod 
Lay her softly — thanking God, 
Who spares her from the chast'ning rod ! 



THE DYING YEAR. 

IT matters not the purple pomp 
And gilded state around her spread : 
Not all her crimson fires can warm 

The failing year — she's almost dead. 
The golden-rod and aster pale 

Are listening 'neath the forest eaves 
Unto the death-watch ticking faint 
And low amid the falling leaves. 

The blue-eyed gentians meekly lift 
Their fringed lids unto the sky, 

Where mournfully the shortening days 
. Are murmuring. She must die, must die ! 

For see, where flows her deep life-tide 
O'er down and mead, in scarlet dyes. 

And all the silken azure stains 

That summer belted o'er the skies. 



213. THE DYING TEAR. 

Fall-roses, children of the wood, 

Chrysanthemums, with yellow hair, 
And starry eyes that upward turn 

Enamored of the golden air — 
Gather around her couch to bear 

Her last sweet message to the dell, 
Where the tall lichens tenderly 

Are waving her a long farewell ! 

Bring rosemary, the dark and green. 

And set about her place of rest ; 
She wore the bridal-saffron once, 

And young moss rosebuds on her breast. 
And heart' s-ease, and forget-me-nots — 

And tho' hath come her hour of pain. 
She still hath smiles with which to tell 

Your kind remembrance is not vain. 

And now the long, dark night apace 

Comes with the w^iite frost silently 
To drape her glistening bier, and fold 

Her hands and close her glazing eye. 
But by the ruined tower uprears 

The lowly wall-flower's humble cross. 
To whisper soft, amid our woe, 

Of promised gain for every loss ! 



COLD BEAUTY. 213 



COLD BEAUTY. 



s 



HE was fair 

As the calla's petals are 
That on a southern cape expand — 
But as cold 
As the icy hands that hold 

The tides upon the Arctic strand. 

She was all 
Sculptor's vision could recall 
Of the Venus of his dreams ; 
But as chill 
As the marble goddess still 

Which 'neath his burning chisel gleams. 

And she shone 
Brilliant as yon sparkling zone 

That girdles Heaven's mantle blue ! 
But no star 
Glittering in that belt afar, 
Was more distant still to you. 

Ah ! her eye ' 

Was like that magnet in the sky 

To which the earth still turns thro' gloom- 
Attractive still, 
It still repels you, with a chill. 

Like some wan meteor o'er a tomb ! 

Bloomed her cheek 
With that glowing crimson streak 
Seen in heart of moss rosebud ; 



214 THE ARCTIC NIGHT. 

But it flowed 
From a fount where warmth ne'er glow'd- 
Like those creatures with cold blood, 

Red and cold — 
That on land or sea, we're told, 
Can live — she seemed amphibian ; 
Joy could ne'er 
Delight, nor throbbed her pulse to fear, 
Nor could the wildest grief give pain. 

Dead to all — 
Her love's white ghost, in memory's hall. 
Its silent rounds alone would take — 
Now 'tis laid : 
That haunting, pallid, restless shade 
Sleeps with her, no more to wake ! 



THE ARCTIC NIGHT. 

"At this point one of the guests turned to him and asked, 
'What is the most awful thing that you ever experienced?' His 
face took a devotionally deep expression, and he answered, * The 
silence of the Arctic night.' " — Elder's Biography of Kane. 

DARKNESS !— Silence all unbroken 
As if God had never spoken ! 
As if out of chaos, never 
Order came, the bands to sever 
Which held fast each golden wonder. 
Bound the w^aters over, under, 



THE ARCTIC NIGHT. 2r 

Worlds and starry systems glorious, 
Springing at His call victorious ! 
As if formless, void and soundless. 
Were creation's limits boundless. 

Darkness — silence all unbroken 

As if God had never spoken ! 

Deep and stilly blackness brooding — 

Wild thoughts on the soul intruding, 

Of the Scandinavian Niflheim, 

Situate beneath the cold beam 

Of pale Cynosura's w^hite gleam — 

Or the Hades of the Druids, 

Region chill of frozen fluids, 

Thick-ribb'd ice and cheerless, dark strand. 

Called " The Island of the Cold Land." 

Ninety rounds the earth must travel 
And the sun's gold skein unravel, 
Ere the faintest twilight glimmer 
Will upon the darkness shimmer : 
Seven-score circles, the ecliptic 
Under, make she — ere electric 
Gleams from Sol will pierce the ice-belt. 
Letting warmth be (or e'en life) felt : — 

Darkness — silence all unbroken 

As if God had never spoken ! 

Such a silence, as 'tis given 
Out, that once there fell in heaven 
For the space of half an hour ! — 
Silence — when the Mighty Power, 



2l6 THE SEER. 

That the universe still graspeth 
In its wondrous hold — unclaspeth 
Hidden seeds within the bosom 
To put forth their bud and blossom ! 
Silence felt, tho* all unbroken, 
To the soul sent as a token 
As if God himself had spoken ! 



THE SEER. 

ALONE, in my palace of dreams I 
An ashen moon in the skies, 
Gold-ringed, like unwilling bride, with gleams 

Of tears in her beautiful eyes — 
I sit, while the night-winds part 
The silvery mists o'er the lea, 
And gaze with a vision from out xi\y heart 
On what you may not see. 

As he who stands in a well 

At noonday sees the stars, 
I have sounded the depths of life, to tell 

The gold from the leaden bars ; 
For not in the dazzling sun 

Of favor, that blinds us so. 
Come starry truths out, one by one, 

Like the problems solved by woe. 

'Tis a bitter price we pay 

For this power of second-sight, 



MAGIC WINGS. ' 217 

That bears the rose from the cheek' away 
And threads brown locks with white — 

But 'tis much to lift the pall 
Of evil, and descry 

The wholesome grains of good that all 
Its dark depths underlie. 

And much, on Life's mystic wall, 

In characters of light, 
To read the lines that ne'er appall 

When interpreted aright — 
That the change which we call " death," 

Is the bloom of a brighter hour, 
Of which life is the bud, hanging on a breath, 

And death the full-blown flower ! 

So, over yon agate sky 

And watery moonbeams cold, 
I look with Faith's unclouded eye 

At the city of purple and gold ! 
And tread the jasper floor 

'Neath the amethystine domes. 
Where 'tis written over the crystal door, 

" For him that overcomes !" 



MAGIC WINGS. 

I'VE a pair of tiny pinions. 
Where I hide them none may know — 
But when they're plumed, the far dominions 
Of the Norland's realms of snow 
Gleam white beneath me, as I go, 
19 



21 8 MAGIC WINGS. 

Spanning seas in my magic flight, 
Till by the ghastly, weird, wan light 
Of the polar star, the mystery 
I solve, of the lonely Arctic sea 
Chanting the hymn of eternity ! 

I've a pair of shadowy pinions, 

You'd scarce notice should you see — 
Sweeping the song-enshrined dominions 
Of classic-storied Italy ! 
I hear the moan of the grieving sea 
Wailing a dirge for the master hands 
That set on Italia's golden strands 
The dial-plates to mark the hours 
Sacred to fame in those vocal bowers. 
And hallow'd e'en in these times of ours. 

I've a pair of tireless pinions. 

Cleaving space and the shores that lie 
Between us and the palm's dominions 
Under a golden Syrian sky. 
Oh, far away on these wings I fly 

To the land of the date and the citronelle ; 
I see the desert's red veins swell. 
As the fierj^ breath of the fierce simoom 
Crimsons the firmament's brow of gloom, 
Like the molten seal that shall mark earth's doom ! 

I've a pair of restless pinions, 
Never weary of their flight, 

Glittering up in the Day's dominions — 
Parting the heavy folds of night — 
And hovering over the fields of light 



MAGIC WINGS. 219 

That Progress plants as she journeys on 
Her upward path ! Oh never done 
These sweeps of mine ; for I would pierce 
The depths of the boundless Universe, 
Could I its wondrous tale rehearse ! 

IVe a pair of daring pinions, 

Drooped when human fowler's near — 
But reaching to the stars' dominions 
When an angel's call I hear ! 
Not a quiver or a thrill of fear 

Ruffles their plumage as they soar 
Over the din and the troubled roar 
Of Life's too treacherous sea, away 
Where rolling spheres grand anthems play 
On Nature's golden harp alway ! 

Oh shall I e'er have pearly pinions. 
Like a radiant, snow-white dove. 
And furl them in the blest dominions 
Where never-dying, holy love 
Is eyried in the cot above ? 

Then no more flights from earth to air — 

No more swoops to dark despair — 

No false hopes or vain endeavor — 

No golden links for death to sever — 

But joy for ev^er and for ever ! 



220 THE CALL. 



THE CALL. 



"/-'^OME! come! come!" 

V^^ Is the call from the far-off shore, 
That the Poet hears from the starry dome 
Where angels watch evermore ! 
" Come ! come ! come !" — 
In cadences sweet and low, 
Like strains of music once heard in home, 
That breathe of the "long-ago." 
" Come ! come ! come !" 

" Come to our bowers of light ! 
Come to the Morning land ! 
Dreary and dark is the baneful night 

That shrouds the world's cold strand. 
'Tis suspicion and doubt and wi'ong 
That 'genders the earthly cloud — 
But come to the bowers where faith is strong. 
And the sorrowing head's ne'er bowed. 
Come ! come ! come ! 

" Come, with the heart of youth — 
Come, with the pulse of fire — 
Drink of the fount of immortal truth 

And quench each gross desire. 
'Tis the glow of generous thought 

That, golden, lights our sky — 
And love makes our music, melody wrought 
By the Spirit's harmony ! 

Come ! come ! come ! 



THE CALL. '2.2.\ 

" Come, with thoughts that breathe — 
Come, with words that burn — 
And they'll spring into living flowers, to wreathe 

Thy Hope's now mouldering urn. 
Lay down thy petty cares. 

Cast off' thy sin's dark yoke. 
And cool thy brow with ambrosial airs, 
Whose echoes grief never woke ! 
Come ! come ! come !" 

Alas ! that his wings are tied ! 

Alas ! that he cannot soar 
To the realms of light, on the other side 

Of Time's old wreck-strewn shore ! 
O child of the dreamy eye ! 

Poet ! the earth is cold. 
And heedeth not thy anguish-cry 

That swells o'er its brown old mould. 

But not In vain that cry, 

For the angel- watchers hear. 
And weave a new link out of every sigh, 

In the chain, where they've gemm'd each tear — 
To draw thee upward, o'er clayey clod, 

To the Spirit's shining dome 
In the golden city of our God, 

Where they ever are calling, " Come !" 
19* 



222 THE MOMENTS. 



y 



THE MOMENTS. 

TICK, tick — calling cheerily, 
Rosy moments in childhood gay. 
Sunshine laden, dancing merrily. 

Speed on their joyous way ! 
Tick, tick — light on the summer wind, 
Hopefully onward, casting no look behind, 
Time, without whip or spur. 
Proving no loiterer — 
Speeds, while the morning of youth lights the way ! 

Tick, tick — louder in manhood's prime. 

Honor-crowned moments tell their proud tale — 
Fame points the dial — Ambition rings the chime 

Thrillingly out on the gale ! 
Tick, tick — hark ! how the roaring blast 
Flaps its broad pinions, hurriedly sweeping past — 

Onward, with lightning wings. 

Wildly it rolls and sings, 
Ringing its paeans o'er mountain and vale ! 

Tick, tick — faintly, in Life's decline. 

Wearied moments whispering flee — 
Bat-like, flitting where Age and Want recline, 

Over a darkening sea. 
Tick, tick. List, while the sighing breeze. 
Plaintively miirmuring dirge-notes among the trees. 

Scatters the withered leaves, 

While a dun shroud it weaves. 
Wailing a requiem so mournfully ! 



EVE-LAND. 223 



EVE-LAND. 

LO ! the mystic fires are gleaming 
From the twiHght's hall of amber, 
Where the weary day is dreaming 

In her crimson western chamber ; 
And the panoramas olden 

Of the cloud-racks no more darkle, 
For they're flooded with the golden 
Rain of sunset, all a-sparkle. 

Up the shining ladder bending 

From the purple Eve-land brightly. 

Go I with thought-angels, wending 
Starry labyrinths so lightly — 

Onward, onward, pausing never, 
Past the ice-bands of Uranus 

And the rings of Saturn, ever 

Singing glorious hosannas ! 

ft 

Cleaving all the sparkling stretches 

Of the stellar sea, that floweth 
Its immeasurable reaches — 

And the whirling tide that goeth 
With its planet waifs terrestrial 

Circling marches, that ne'er tire — 
Till upon the strand celestial 

I can hear the seraph choir ! 

And I gaze upon the glory 

That blue ether veils from mortal — 



234 DEATH IS THERE. 

Listen to the stars' sweet story 
At the arch of Heaven's portal. 

(For the distant spheres all hymn it, 
Singing o'er the legend wondrous 

Of a space that knows no limit 

Filled with worlds and systems pond'rous !) 

See the golden pen Jehovah 

Sets on the blue scroll of heaven 
And writes his mighty name all over 

The soft vellum page of Even ! — 
Hear the blessed benediction, 

" Peace on earth, to man good-will !" Tho' 
Mortals in each dereliction 

Flout the kindly message still so. 

Linger till the fires grow paler. 

And the shining ladder's fading. 
When earth calls me back — Old Jailer, 

All bright fancies rudely shading ! — 
Downward, downw^ard, while the glory 

Of the sunset is departing. 
Again to hearken Life's sad story. 

Where with sin and woe 'tis smarting. 



DEATH IS THERE. 

STEP lightly through the crowded street- 
See, floating on the dusty air 
From yonder knocker, streaming crape 
Tells death is there ! 



DEATH IS THERE. 235 

It matters not if all unknown 

The shrouded form that coldly lies 
With icy brow, white folded hands, 
And glassy eyes ! 

A brother Pilgrim has lain down 

His staff, to rest at close of day ; 
Step lightly — for your journey lies 
The selfsame way ! 
/• 
Though narrow walls alone divide 

His lifeless form from your bright eye, 
They're wider than the gate which opes 
Eternity ! 

Though firm your pulse and springing step. 

Your boasted life hangs on a breath — 
A paper screen is all that stands 
'Twixt you and death ! 

The nodding plume and tolling bell. 

The narrow house and couch of clay 
Are thine inheritance — how soon 
May dawn the day 

On which you'll claim them ! Think of this 

When passing by the coffined dead ; 
Death's next cold mandate may lay low 
Your stately head ! 
P 



k 



226 "75" 777^ EARTH GROWING COLDER r 



"IS THE EARTH GROWING COLDER?" 

IS our planet growing colder ? 
Asks the learn'd, the science-seeker ; 
Chills the heart when waxing older ? 

Questions Nature's child, the meeker ! 
Has Time, with circling age^ hoary. 

Grown cynical, and also bolder, 
To breathe o'er worlds his withering story — 
That thus the earth seems growing colder? 

Are yon bright-banner'd hosts above us 

Marching toward those chilly regions 
Where we must go, and all who love us. 

To join the shrouded army's legions? 
Must those deep fires that burn and sparkle 

On Heaven's blue heights grow dim and smoulder 
A charred existence out — to darkle 

In a night still growing colder ? 

Ah ! human love and generous feeling, 

Grief, fear and joy, their shadows blending. 
Their lessons teach — still, still revealing 

The finite here must have an ending. 
But there's a realm whose glow supernal 

In fadeless youth can ne'er grow older— 
But warmer, brighter and eternal. 

The clime that never will be colder ! 

Between us and that land celestial 
There flows a viewless, icy river, . 



THE DROP OF DEW, 227 

Through whose cold waves all things terrestrial 
Must onward to the great " For ever !" — 

But o'er the curdling waters sparkling 
Comes light to gladden the beholder — 

Warm light, o'erpowering Death's chill darkling — 
Then fear not as the earth grows colder ! 



THE DROP OF DEW. 

YOU send to me a word of cheer, 
That falls as summer rain 
Upon the fainting foliage near, 

To waken life again. 
For tho' an olden thing to give 

It always seemeth new ; 
A little thing — but flowerets live 
Uj)on a drop of dew. 

And there's a flower which, Poet says, 

Blooms on a leafless bough ; 
Such Is my heart; Its cheerless days 

Are sUver-petal'd through 
By leaves of hope, that my poor lays 

May warm to life anew 
Some trodden soul, to give God praise 

For the " wee drop o' dew !" 

Your word of kindness bids me live — 
I'd thank, but not oppress you ; 



228 AN EPISTLE. 

For foes I have a " God forgive" — 
For you then, a " God bless you !'* 

You've bid the buds of feeling start 
Their tendrils forth anew ; 

I'll treasure in my parched heart 
The kindly drop of dew. 



AN EPISTLE 
TO GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

WITHOUT a delay your kind letter, 
With welcome, came safely to hand- 
And I think that I cannot do better 
Than answer its inquiries bland. 
I am glad that you think I have genius. 

And with it can win a great name ; 
But (this is no secret between us) 

A hard-trotting nag's that same Fame ! 

To begin, then : I'm just in my prime, sir, 

Of my age I shall leave you to guess — 
That it's not a fit subject for rhyme, sir, 

Or reason, you'll surely confess. 
My friends say (to please me), "I am pretty"- 

My looking-glass answers, "Nay, nay;" 
And tho' sometimes I strive to be witty. 

The effort still ends in a bray ! 

I am neither too short nor too tall, sir, 
But just the right height, if I reach 



I 



MOONLIGHT. 239 

Your approval — and if not, I fall, sir, 
To low-water mark on Fame's beach. 

My complexion was roses and lilies, 
But, alas ! the}^ have faded away, 

And a full crop of young daffodillies 
Crowd out the sw^eet flowerets of May. 

But down in my heart there are bowers 

All verdant with fragrance and bloom, 
. Like those bright- tinted groups of wild flowers 

That wreathe the cold sides of a tomb — 
And when with the world I grow weary 

I enter this garden of mine, 
To forget the old v^ilderness dreary 

Where " green spots" but sparingly shine. 

And here you may enter w^ith me, sir, 

And view what my fancy has v\^rought ; 
No sleepless old dragon you'll see, sir, 

To guard the gold apples of thought. 
I know you're a jovial, good fellow, 

When the right hand of friendship you send — 
Ah ! the fruit of my Muse will grow mellow 

In the sunshine you freely extend. 
New Orleans, August 27, 1859. 



MOONLIGHT. 

THE moonlight sleeps soft on the tide. 
The ripples kiss lightly the shore, 
. As, silver-linked, swiftl}^ they glide 
The gold-sanded, pebbly beach o'er ; 
20 



230 MOONLIGHT. 

There's an odorous breath of the night 
Playing soft with the curls on my brow, 

Then fanning the almond blows white 

Where they droop from their silvery bough. 

Abroad is the spirit of dreams, 

Floating drowsy thro' heaven's soft hue ; 
But merry thoughts twinkle in gleams 

From yon star-watchers in the deep blue : 
'Tis the hour for their revels, I ween, 

And they twine in a mazy dance now, 
Circling round their great centre of sheen. 

With a diamond crown clasping each brow. 

Where the white-columned moonbeams uphold 

The azure-tipp'd roof of the sky. 
The wandering zephyr so bold 

Is tuning his wild minstrelsy ! 
And fountains celestial are playing. 

In pearly drops trickling thro' 
Their mist-fleecy basins, and straying 

To earth in a glittering dew. 

O midnight ! thy moon-lighted glory 

More dear is than day's ruddy glare ; 
Tis a gentle and strangely sweet story. 

Thou breath'st thro' thy silver-hued air — 
It whispers of peace ! Like life's splendor 

Paling out where the white tombstones gleam. 
To tell us that death's message tender 

Has tempered the fire of the beam. 

Which shines with a softened reflection 
From good deeds done in sunshine of life, 



SUMMER'S DEAD! 231 

And with mildly moon-lighted projection 

Looks calm from the grave's conquerYl strife ! 

When the midnight of death o'er us darkling 
Is shrouding our spirit in gloom, 

May remembrance of virtue come sparkling 
To gild with its moonlight the tomb ! 



SUMMER'S DEAD! 



s 



UMMER'S dead !— 

Luna, with her silver sickle, 
In the " moon of fallen leaves," 
'Mong the yellow blades of sunset 

Stood like Ruth amid the sheaves, 
And saw her die ; the sand was falling 

Grain by grain, until the night 
Showed empty glass — and blue-eyed Summer 
Closed her dewy orbs of light — 
Summer's dead ! 

Summer's dead ! 
She who bore her blushing honors 

From her mother May's sweet side. 
With fragrant dower of buds and blossoms 

To be the young June's rosy bride — 
Has lived her hours of love and gladness, 

Has basked in Pleasure's fleeting ray. 
And, like all lovely things, must perish^ 

Fade, for ever fade away — 
Summer's dead ! 



232 SUMMER'S DEAD! 

Summer's dead ! 
There is a sighing in the woodlands, 

Where the mourning wind now goes 
Strewing blood-stained leaves, in anguish, 

As he vainly breathes his woes ; 
But no fragrancy replying 

Comes from flowers that drooping lie 
Where their gentle mate reposes 

With cold lip and rayless eye — 
Summer's dead ! 



Summer's dead ! 
Ay, Summer's dead, and soon forgotten — 

Soon her rival's yellow eye 
And flaming robe of crimson, flashing. 

Will all fainter charms outvie. 
Glowing Autumn, richly laden 

With a crown of golden grain, 
And singing harvest-songs, will banish 

All of sorrow from the strain — 
Summer's dead ! 

Summer's dead ! 
Yes, " dead," we cry, when bright things leave us- 

" Dead !" — and drop an anguish tear ; 
But the next gleam meteoric, 

Lures us from the gloomy bier — 
And our sorrow's evanescent 

As the fickle wind's, which grieves 
A while o'er Summer's faded roses, 

Sighing 'mong the withered leaves, 
Summer's dead ! 



NELLIE. 233 

" Summer's dead !" — 
Then, when the cornstalk's yellow tassel 

Gleams in Autumn's tresses brown, 
Flirting wind will lift the bauble — 

All its short-lived grief is flown ! 
Thus, with us ; and well it is so : 

Since our life's a summer's day, 
Let's hail the sunshine or the shower, 

And try to smile the while we say, 
" Summer's dead." 



NELLIE. 



HER soul is very beautiful — 
I know not that her face 
Is limned in perfect symmetry 

Of elegance and grace ; 
She may sadly lack perfection 

To cold, artistic eyes — 
But with me it is the gem, 
Not the setting, that I prize ! 

For the eyes, to me, are lovely 

That look back love to mine : 
The cheeks are very beautiful 

That modesty enshrine ; 
The lips are saintly portals 

That only ope to truth — 
And the heart that's filled with sunshine 

Makes perpetual youth ! 



20*- 



234 ^N INVOCATION. 

Such my Nellie's heart : you'd know her 

If you only heard her laugh ; 
Such my Nellie is : unto her 

A golden bowl I quaff! 
If to spirit form is given 

In that land than earth more fair, 
She'll be beautiful in heaven, 

For souls but enter there ! 



AN INVOCATION. 

SPEAK to me, speak, O Spirit Voice ! 
Moon of my night, arise ! 
Roll back the pall that shadows all 

The splendor of the skies ! 
The gfolden waves of sunset flash 

No glory o'er my brow — 
I only hear the angry clash 
Of battle ringing now. 

For, fiery Mars, the red-orb'd star, 

Sits in my house of life. 
And bids the ruthless demon, War, 

Unsheath his glittering knife : — 
No breathings soft of beauty steal 

My spirit's rose-leaves o'er. 
My palsied senses only feel 

Blasts from the Stygian shore. 

Ah ! once the blue-eyed June could call 
My soul from out her cell, 



i 



AN INVOCATION. 235 

Where, nun-like, wrapped in serge and pall 

She loves to brood too well ; 
But now young Summer climbs the hill 

To kiss the morning's eyes, 
And finds me torpid — not a thrill 

Responds to her "Arise !" 

Ye gentle sprites that love the dales 

And banks where violets blow. 
And thymy knolls and wooded vales. 

Where are ye wandering now? 
No more ye float on moonbeams white . 

Unto my casement lone, 
'Mid softest visions of the night — 

Oh where, where have ye flown? 

Come back — the thorn is on my brow, 

The veil upon my sight — 
Oh lay the troubled spirit low. 

And let me dream to-night ! 
Come from the fragrant cowslip mead 

And sing the witching lay 
I heard when June was June indeed, 

And life a summer day. 

Lead me by hedgerows smooth and trim. 

And past the tuneful brook, 
Until my heart has caught the hymn 

Paged on great Nature's book ! 
I weary of this daily strife 

Of bodily control — 
Oh charm away the earth of life 

And let me see my soul ! 



236 WEARINESS. 

Like the leashed hound that chafes the bight, 

My spirit feels the thrall 
That wraps it in a dreamless night, 

Whose stars are hidden all. 
Roll back, roll back, O sombre shade, 

And let the light shine thro' ; 
For it my soul doth faint and fade 

As pines the flower for dew ! 
June 5, 1 86 1. 



WEARINESS. 

WOULD I'd been born a country lass. 
In days gone by, when hearts were simple ; 
When honest name was friendly pass, 

And rustic jest woke rosy dimple. 
The world, they say, has wiser grown. 

But knowledge oft brings melancholy — 
Where ignorance is bliss we own 
Wisdom to seek is height of folly ! 

The fewer wants, the fewer woes — 

The bumpkin in a state of nature 
Can never feel the feverish throes 

That agitate our legislature ! 
The rosy milkmaid, pail in hand. 

And blest with health — life's richest treasure — 
The weariness can't understand 

That overcomes the child of pleasure. 

Ah ! happiness is what we want I 
( A mind contented dwells in bliss !) 



HOW LONG, O LORD? 237 

The great round world's allurement can't, 

With all its boasts, ensure us this. 
For happiness is Nature's child, 

And dwells with her in homely guise ; 
She flies from crowds and tumults wild, 

And shuns the gaze of worldlings' eyes. 

The petty strivings, gnawing cares, 

To seem to others what we are not. 
But bring us wrinkles and gray hairs — 

And thus we toil for those that care not ! 
Oh, far from traffic, noise and strife, 

I'd flee away among the roses 
That bloom to bless the happier life 

That in their quiet shade reposes. 



"HOW LONG, O LORD.?" 

[Psalm xiii.] 

HOW long, O Lord of Hosts ! 
Before thy face I'll see ? 
Wilt thou thy smiles for ever hide 

Nor heed mine agony.? 
The words of counsel wise. 

My soul would whisper o'er. 
Are faintly heard, when through my heart 

Such floods of sorrow pour. 
How long shall cruel foes essay 
To strew with thorns my weary way ? 



228 AN EPISTLE. 

For foes I have a " God forgive" — 
For you then, a " God bless you !" 

YouVe bid the buds of feeling start 
Their tendrils forth anew ; 

I'll treasure in my parched heart 
The kindly drop of dew. 



AN EPISTLE 
TO GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

WITHOUT a delay your kind letter, 
With welcome, came safely to hand- 
And I think that I cannot do better 
Than answer its inquiries bland. 
I am glad that you think I have genius, 

And with it can win a great name ; 
But (this is no secret between us) 

A hard-trotting nag's that same Fame ! 

To begin, then : I'm just in my prime, sir, 

Of my age I shall leave you to guess — 
That it's not a fit subject for rhyme, sir, 

Or reason, you'll surely confess. 
My friends say (to please me), "I am pretty"- 

My looking-glass answers, " Nay, nay ;" 
And tho' sometimes I strive to be witty, 

The effort still ends in a bray ! 

I am neither too short nor too tall, sir, 
But just the right height, if I reach 



MOONLIGHT. 229 

Your approval — and if not, I fall, sir, 
To low-water mark on Fame's beach. 

My complexion was roses and lilies, 
But, alas ! the}'- have faded away. 

And a full crop of young daffodillies 
Crowd out the sweet flowerets of May. 

But down in my heart there are bowers 

All verdant with fragrance and bloom, 
Like those bright- tinted groups of wild flowers 

That wreathe the cold sides of a tomb — 
And when with the world I grow weary 

I enter this garden of mine. 
To forget the old wilderness dreary 

Where " green spots" but sparingly shine. 

And here you may enter v^ith me, sir. 

And view what my fancy has wrought ; 
No sleepless old dragon you'll see, sir, 

To guard the gold apples of thought. 
I know you're a jovial, good fellow. 

When the right hand of friendship you send — 
Ah ! the fruit of my Muse will grow mellow 

In the sunshine you freely extend. 
New Orleans, August 27, 1859. 



MOONLIGHT. 

THE moonlight sleeps soft on the tide. 
The ripples kiss lightly the shore, 
. As, silver-linked, swiftl}^ they glide 
The gold-sanded, pebbly beach o'er ; 
20 



240 THE MANIAC'S SONG. 

'Tis a flower which, brushed, can never 
Bloom as erst it did before thee ! 

Ah ! then linger, gentle maiden, 

Yet a while in bowers of childhood — 
For, full soon thou wilt, care-laden, 

Long to roam again its wildwood ! — 
Sing with birds and blush with flowers, 

Coax gay butterflies unto thee — 
Laugh away the rosy hours, 

There's time enough for grief to woo thee. 



THE MANIAC'S SONG. 



M 



AD! mad! 
When the thunder calls to the deep, Fm 
glad ! 
When the storm's black bark unfurls its sail, 
And Death rides out on the fearful gale, 
I am glad ! glad ! 

Sad ! sad ! 
'Twas to see my Willie drown ! Too bad, 
That the glittering threads of his golden hair 
Should hold him fast in the Siren's lair — 

Too bad ! too bad ! 

Mad! mad! 
They call me mad, when I am but glad, 



THE MANIAC'S SONG. 241 

As I shout his ever blessed name 
To the lightning's telegraphic flame, 
I am glad ! glad ! 

Sad ! sad ! 
No answering message comes back. Too bad ! 
The lightning's chain in the surging seas 
Breaks near the Hall of the Nereides — 

Too bad ! too bad ! 

Mad ! mad ! . 
There's a lurid light in the cloud ! I'm glad ! 
Yon sea of fog the stars will drown, 
I saw the moon's white face go down, 

I am glad ! glad ! 

Sad ! sad ! 
I shall be if no shipwreck's near ; too bad 
If there goes not a goodly company 
To meet him under the stormy sea — 

Too bad ! too bad ! 

Mad ! mad ! 
Hurrah ! there's a crash ! I'm glad ! I'm glad ! 
The wind's sharp plough turns up the deep, 
And furrows the beds where the sea-gods sleep, 

I am glad ! glad ! 

Sad ! sad ! 
Bound down like a felon ! Too bad ! too bad 
That I can't escape this torturing chain. 
And join my love in the foaming main — 
Too bad ! too bad ! 
21 Q 



242 ANNABEL MAT. 

Mad ! mad ! 
When I hear the whirlwind roar I am glad ; 
For I hope that the Storm-king will hear my cry. 
And clip these cords as he thunders by — 

I am glad ! glad ! 

Sad ! sad ! 
His chariot wheels drown my voice — too bad ! 
I must wait for the tardy jailer. Death, 
To close the gates on my trembling breath — 

Too bad ! too bad ! 



ANNABEL MAY. 

WHERE flag-lilies dip in the tide pearly chalices, 
And blue herons skim to their wide crystal 

palaces — 
Where winds, flirting gayly, kiss the wave, flout the 

willow 
( With a crimson coral branch in a cave for a pillow). 
And waters murmur sweetly thro' the long summer 

day. 
While o'er her flits the wild sea-mew, sleeps Annabel 

May. 

The old, old story — she loved too well, but not wisely. 
And woman's shame or glory will her love tell concisely. 
She was beautiful, alas ! and frail — oh dangerousl}' 

beautiful ! 
And easily, at Love's prevail, she left the dutiful. 



LIFE-TIDES. 243 

But in that sleep that knows no waking — ah ! well-a- 

day! 

Where silver-crested waves are breaking lies Annabel 
May! 

She wandered when the breeze mowed the willow's 

drooping tresses, 
And saw the wild-winds toss the waves — ( the billow's 

rough caresses !) 
Watching for the sail to come, the sail that bore away 
Her heart and duty from her home with him who led 

astray. 
He came not, he came not, but the tide seemed to say, 
" My blue arms grief and shame will hide — come, An- 
nabel May !" 

Sing your gentlest lullaby, waves, in your play — 
Billows, ripple softly by where she doth lay ; 
Siren, tune your sweetest strain — Halcyones, sweep 
Your peaceful wings across the main, lest tempests 

rouse the deep ! 
Love for her spread angry skies — life a stormy day — 
But now in death she calmly lies — rest, Annabel May ! 



LIFE-TIDES. 

THINE, murmuring o'er golden sands 
Kissed by the sunrise, 
Linked wavelets on amber strands 
Glinting 'neath bright skies — 



244 LIFE-TIDES. 

Mine^ swelling o'er rough rocks, 

Jagged and broken, 
To scatter but foam-flocks 

As tearful token. 

Tkzne^ fanned by the zephyr sweet 

From his soft wooing 
Where blue-eyed violets meet. 

And doves are cooing — 
Mine., tossed by the tempest's might, 

Cleft by the storm-flash. 
On the bleak shore by night 

Where breakers wild dash ! 

Thine.^ moulding the sand to each 

Whim of thy pleasure. 
For the next wave to teach 

Fleetness of treasure ! — 
. Mine., laving the gleaming edge 

Of some harsh experience. 
To soften the barren ledge 

With Hope's eflervescence ! 

Thine., singing blissful songs, 

Which the beach-fairy 
In sweet, silver sound prolongs. 

Sportive and airy — 
Mine., o'er the shattered wrecks 

On the strand lying, 
Chants a wild dirge, and becks 

Phantoms still flying ! 

Both., hastening onward, still. 
Singing or surging. 



CLOUDS. 245 



That ocean vast to fill 
To which is converging 

Each human tide that strives, 
Ebbing or flowing, 

To round up our mortal lives 
For heavenly growing ! 



CLOUDS. 



LIKE to ships with graceful motion. 
White sails swelling on the breeze, 
O'er light ether's far-spread ocean 

Summer clouds cleave peaceful seas. 
Airy billows gently ripple 

To the fragrant breath of June, 
Piling foam-fleck'd crestings triple 

On the blue tide's flooded noon. 
While the pearly-hued armada 

Parts the golden waves of day. 
Leaving in its wake no shadow 

Save a feathery, snowy spray. 
Evanishing — and but remembered 

As the gleam of waving wings 
We catch, when pure souls are dismembered 

Of dull matter's leaden strings. 

Like to fiery chargers rushing 

To the battle's revel red — 
While the wind's shrill bugle's gushing. 

Calling all " to arms !" o'erhead, 
21* 



246 CLOUDS. 

And the rocket-lightning's sending 

Its bhie signal o'er the plain — 
Storm-clouds (as war-steed, distending 

Nostril, shakes his streaming mane), 
Swell their blacken'd fronts and clamor, 

Waving shaggy locks on high. 
In their Jove-forged, thunder armor, 

Shrieking, neighing o'er the sky. 
But, from warrings elemental 

Clearer atmospheres evolve — 
So, self-conflict, if repental, 

Radiates a pure resolve ! 

Like to rose-leaves lightly lying 

On a blue lake's tranquil breast. 
Cloudlets, when the day is dying, 

Veil the azure of the West ! 
Like, again, to sable banners 

Streaming o'er the realms of death — 
When tempests shout their wild hosannas 

Wave cloud-pennons at the breath. 
Yet each cloud has silver lining 

Tho' on us its dark side lowers — 
We know the sun is brightly shining 

When deepest shadows mark the hours. 
Vain were Pleasure's joyous being 

Did not pain and grief oft meet — 
Thus earth's woes are for our seeing 

Heavenly blessings more complete ! 



WATCHING AND WAITING. 247 



WATCHING AND WAITING. 

WAITING under the shadow 
Of the ehu at the foot of the hill, 
Gazing over the meadow, 

And along the path by the mill — 
Watching and waiting for somebody, 

Somebody's waiting still ; 
Dreaming and longing for somebody, 
'Neath the elm at the foot of the hill. 

Waiting under the star-beam, 

On the beach, where the emerald sea 
Dots each wave with a white gleam. 

Like crocus buds on the lea — 
Watching and waiting is somebody 

For a glimpse of the distant sail — 
Hearing the death-tick for somebody 

In every sigh of the gale ! 

Waiting in the embrasure 

Of a darkly-curtained room. 
To catch the first glimpse of azure 

Eyes, and to press the peachy bloom 
Of a first-born's lips, is somebody. 

Watching and waiting still — 
As parts Life's curtain for somebody. 

Disclosing good or ill. 

Watching still, while the night rolls 
On its ebon wheels away 



248 



Till its knell the sexton lark tolls 
From the gilded spire of day — 

Watching and waiting is somebody, 
As speeds the parting breath 

That solves the problem to somebody 
Of the mystery called death ! 

Watching and waiting ever 

From life's dawn till its close, 
For fancied good that never 

Comes — for a sweet and thornless rose, 
Watching and waiting is somebody — 

Nor heeds the waning light 
That closes for ever on somebody 

As falls each sombre night. 

Watch ! O son of the earth-land ! 

For you know not when the hour 
Your bark will touch the cold strand 

Where the grave's chill glaciers lower. 
Watch ! for the tide for somebody 

Is setting now to that shore — 
Bearing still onward somebody 

For ever, evermore ! 



WHAT individuality, 
What embodiment of self. 
That little personal pronoun has 
Above the mounds of pelf! 



" /." 249 

'Tis the stamp of man's divinity, 

The seal of higher life, 
Which the great Life-giver gave, w^hen He 

Ordained this earthly strife. 

'Tis the pledge that ye shall know me by. 

When, free from flesh and sense. 
My soul shall plume her pinions for 

A sphere above pretence ; 
When naked, as on earth I came. 

That soul shall be re-born. 
And every secret spring revealed 

That gave forth love or scorn. 

Ye'll know^ me then, my friends, my foes, 

Ye'll know me as I am — 
How much of right to bless in me. 

How much of wrong to damn ! — 
Ye'll know what immolation 

Of sordid self I've nailed 
Upon the cross — what promptings 

Of earth-life I've impaled. 

And whether in a shining garb 

Of white I shall be robed — 
Or serge and sackcloth bind the wounds 

That man has deeply probed — 
What matter? If for weal or woe. 

As lion or as lamb. 
Earth sheltered me: — in heaven ye'll know, 

Ay, know me as I am ! 



250 TO THEE. 



TO THEE. 



TO Thee, my God ! to thee 
The incense of a grateful heart shall rise — 
A heart by sorrow purified ; 
Accept, O Lord ! the humble sacrifice. 

Thro' lowering tempests drear 
My fainting soul groped struggling for the light, 

When lo ! o'er storm and darkness broke, 
Spanning the clouds, thy bow of promise bright ! 

Hail ! holy emblem, hail ! 
No cloud so dark but faith can see thy rays ! 

Look up, O grief-encompassed soul ! 
To heaven for comfort thro' earth's darkest days ! 

Ask, and ye shall receive — 
Knock, and the door of heaven shall open stand !— 

A refuge from the wild storm sent 
To draw thee nearer to the Better Land ! 

The World's alluring voice 
Too loudly sings when Fortune's sunlight pours ; 

It drowns the gentle angel tones 
That plead for entrance at the heart's closed doors- 

But when the sky's o'ercast — 
When whirlwinds scatter friends and fortune far, 



PERFB C TION. 25 1 

And night and darkness gather round, 
Nor shines to cheer us one inspiring star ; 

Trembling and sore amazed, 
We view the gathering gloom, and wildly cry 

For help — when soft the angel stands 
On our heart's threshold, pointing to the sky ! 

Bend, bend, rebellious soul ! 
Nor spurn the proffered aid from God's right hand ; 

Twill gently lead thee thro' the gloom 
Safe to the bright, the far-off Promised Land ! 



PERFECTION. 

MARK the perfect man !"— says the Book 
Of books. Alas ! but where 
Shall he be found ? In vain we look 

On earth, — he is not there ! 
Some God-like ones do walk this sphere, 

Less human than divine ; 
But not in mortal shape, I fear, 
Can full perfection shine. 

" In God's own image fashioned," man 

Was moulded, still, of clay ; 
The spirit struggles in the span 

Of flesh, and owns its sway ; 
And soul and sense unequal war 

Have ever waged, and still 



252 PERFECTION. 

Must on Life's lyre discordant jar 
While swayed by finite will. 

The brightest things our mortal eyes 

Are dazzled with, are not 
Without their blemishes — the skies 

Grow dim, and many a spot 
Yon monarch of light's golden realms 

Has on his glittering throne — 
The diamond, first of radiant gems, 

Has flaws within its zone. 

And lordly man, the last and best 

Of all God's works, will show 
His weakness when there comes the test 

Of joy, or pain, or woe. 
Temptation, too, in varied guise, 

Will spread her devious snares, 
Until his charmed and dazzled eyes 

Know not the wheat from tares ! 

But spurn thou not, for this, one worm 

That crawls the earth with thee — 
For in each shell there lies a germ 

That, in maturity, 
Shall put forth hidden wings, to soar 

Beyond the reach of clay. 
When chrysalis of life no more 

Shall clog the spirit's way! 

Perfection's not a flower of earth, 
Although the blossom here 

May bud — its fuller, purer birth 
Is in another sphere ; 



DISTRUST. 253 

And every seed of good, the soul 

In ripening has given, 
Shall, when sin's bands no more control, 

Perfected, bloom in heaven. 



DISTRUST. 

ONCE she raised the veil from her heart 
That its depths my eye could trace — 
It was as tho' I had found a rose 

Lifting its pleasant face 
From a cleft in the rock — or a sunbeam caught 
Asleep in a shady place. 

She was not always as you see, 

With a shadow in her eyes, 
Like a flaw in the diamond's crystal light 

To dim their sweet surprise ; 
And a voice with a tone of unshed tears, 

Like Autumn's hopeless sighs. 

But the silver cord was loosed that bound 

Her faith in the good and true. 
And one by one fell the gems to earth 

She had garnered when life was new — 
And memory's tablets are inky black 

That in rose-color she drew. 

So, she wraps herself in a mantle dusk 

With nettles overblown, 
22 



254 AD EL A. 

To purge her heart of the ready faith 
That she in her kind has shown — 

Alas ! for the shattered golden bowl, 
For the trust of youth o'erthrown ! 



ADELA. 



COME away, come away, 
Weep not o'er the senseless clay, 
Tho' it held our Adela ! 

Clasp within the waxen hold 
Of her pearl-tinted fingers cold, 
One pale rose-bud — there ! now fold 

The fleecy muslin, virgin white 
As is her spotless soul, alight 
With purity's clear crystallite. 

Twine her amber-threaded hair, 
Like a golden glory, where 
The marble of her forehead fair 

Gleams, blue-veined, and penciled brown 

Over white lids folded down, 

Like snow-banks which the violets drown. 

Make her couch where moonlight weaves 

Silver network thro' the leaves 

That form the wood-lark's emerald eaves. 



AUTUMN AND AGE. 255 

Lay her where the clash of day, 
Ringing peals in life's affray, 
Will not reach her on her way — 

She now treads the crystal floor. 
Enters at the jasper door 
Where the shining seraphs soar ! 

Thro' her sapphire eyes her soul 

Went upward — where grand anthems roll, 

And sin and death have no control. 

Seal the casket that contained 

Our gem, while earth its radiance claimed — 

Without the stamp of woe : — unstained, 

The precious jewel glitters now 
Etherealized, where angels bow 
Before His ever luminous brow ! 

God gave — and now he takes away — 
As falls our night, bright breaks her day, 
A heavenly dawn for Adela ! 



AUTUMN AND AGE. 

THE summer days are fading. 
Passing away — 
And Autumn's brown locks shading 
Her eyes' soft gray. 



256 AUTUMN AXD AGE. 

Droop, mingling with the tresses 

Of golden sheen, 
With which the hazel dresses 

Its bough's bright green. 

The maple leaf is browning 

In the deep dell, 
Where yellow king-cups, crowning 

The grassy fell. 
Lifted their golden chalice 

In merry May — 
Which the fairies crushed in malice- 

Ah I well-a-day ! 

The spring with budding gi'aces 

Is fair to see. 
And summer's sunnv places 

Gleam smilingly ; 
But Autumn's mellow glory, 

And falling leaf, 
Telleth Life's simple story 

In lesson brief! 

Youth in green valleys sporting, 

Is charmed with toys — 
Manhood, ambition courting. 

Life's noon employs — 
But softer the light shineth 

On Age's brow, 
For ripened thought there twineth 

Its garlands no^v. 

What tho' the faded tresses 
Have lost their brown — 



THE DE'IL IS NAE SO BLACK AS PAINTED. 257 

Where every white hair presses, 

Wisdom hath grown ! 
'Tis like the crowning splendor — 

Soft Autumn's glow — 
Painting with hue so tender 

The leaf laid low ! 



"THE DE'IL IS NAE SA BLACK AS HE IS 
PAINTED." 

OH many sing of hopeless love, 
And broken hearts and blighted fancies ; 
And others string their lyres, to prove 

That glory lies where danger prances. 
But, broken heart or wounded heel 

Will ne'er by me be sung or sainted — 
My humble task's to prove the De'il 
Is not so black as he is painted ! 

A sooty subject, I will own, 

When hearts and darts and moonbeams quiver. 
But all have fancies of their own — 

Some's from the brain and some the liver ! 
I know not whence the thought doth steal, 

It may be that my liver's tainted — 
But this I'm sure of, that the De'il 

Is not so black as he is painted. 

His name is bad — and that, you know, 

Is worse than hanging high as Haman ! 
22* R 



258 WB TWO. 

The Quaker's dog proved it was so, 
When all flew out if he but came in. 

He might as well be mad, as feel 

That people thought that he was tainted ; 

But he, like many a luckless de'il. 
Was not so black as he was painted. 

Then let us pause, ere with the crowd 

We lend our voices in declaiming 
'Gainst those we know not, tho' aloud 

Old Rumor's trump their deeds are blaming ; 
Tho' sighs of holy horror steal 

From lips of sinners newly sainted. 
Remember always that the De'il 

Is nae so black as he is painted. 



WE TWO. 



GO to ! — I would not have you smile : 
Your smile hath lost its light ; 
It glares like charnel lamp, the while, 

O'er dead men's bones at night. 
Too well I've proved how false the gleam. 

That it should still deceive me ; 
Ah well ! we all must sometimes dream — 
I've wakened now, believe me. 

Pass on ! — I would not have you speak ; 
There's many a word unspoken 



AT EVENTIDE. 259 

Printed upon the changing cheek 

As a deep burning token 
Of what the lips could never frame, 

Or, framing, still dissemble ; — 
I would not have you breathe my name — 

Then wherefore should you tremble ? 

We know the tide of time has set 

Its counter-currents near us : 
What boots it, that a tricksy jet 

Should to each other bear us ? 
The rushing floods must onward flee — 

Take yozcr course to the main ; 
For the wild waves for you and me 

Will never meet again. 



AT EVENTIDE. 

THRO' the purple vistas at eventide, 
When the golden waves of day 
Are ebbing low, from their noon-flood pride, 

On the twilight strand away — 
Up, on a rosy beam of thought, 
To my cloudland shore I fly. 
Where never a tear from earth is brougflit 

But a gem is wrought on high ! 
And beds of pearl in that stellar sea 

I find, where my tears I hide — 
And the crystal drops are bared to me 
At eventide. 



26o AT EVENTIDE. 

'Tis a glowing strand whose fires ignite 

While the earth beneath grows gray — 
A blending of sunshine and star-beams bright, 

From the mingling night and day ; 
And the farther along the golden shore 

My fluttering pinions play, 
More faintly I hear the sullen roar 

Of Life's discordant fray — 
Higher — up to the crystal bars 

That stem the current wide, 
My soul would float to the silver stars 
At eventide. 



Float on an ether sea of light, 

That the leaden eyes of earth 
Are closed upon, in the falling night 

That gives my spirit birth. 
One by one, as the stars peep forth, 

Do my aspirations rise. 
Grasping south, east, west and north, 

The jewels of the skies ! 
Like to the fabled mystic words 

In the story of Eastern pride, 
Comes the " open sesame," touching the chords 
At eventide. 



Earth ! my body to thee belongs, 
A bond and wretched slave 

That never hopes to burst its thongs 
Till opes the welcome grave. 

But sometimes will my soul look out 
Between its misty bars. 



A TRIBUTE. 261 

Seeking to find the hidden route 

Back to its native stars — 
And glimpses of the path are given, 

When the sunset surges wide 
Are setting ajar the gates of heaven 
At eventide ! 



A TRIBUTE, 

TO THE MEMORY OF WALTER HOPKINS. 

A TEAR, 'tis all I have to give— 
A tear and a blotted page, to thee ; 
A memory, lasting while I live — 
For thou wert kind to me ! 

Bright child of genius, sleep well ! sleep well ! 

Tho' far from thy home a'er the rolling sea ; 
There are hearts in this land that love to tell 

How much they honored thee ! 

An humble lyre shall breathe thy name. 
Whose tones were kindly borne by thee 

Along the sounding aisles of fame 
To higher minstrelsy ! 

And a trembling hand shall touch the string 
Of a harp that tuneless but for thee 

Had hung, a useless, broken thing, 
Upon the willow tree. 



262 A TRIBUTE. 

Not that its strain can tell the worth 
Of gems that centred bright in thee — 

But 'tis the little all that earth 
Has given unto me ; 

And sadly now the chord will trill 

A simple requiem for thee — 
Tho' not attuned with master-skill, 

It hymns sincerity ! 

Farewell ! farewell ! should the wreath of fame 
Crown thy early tomb, this leaf let me 

But add — my mite may be the same 
As greater meed, to thee. 

'Twere wrong to mourn thee, for we know 

Stars set to rise again — and we 
Would shrink before the dazzling glow 

Thy rising sheds o'er thee ! 

The morning hour was thine ! a ray 

Which by the night could not hidden be, 

But melted away in the light of day, 
A glorious day for thee ! 

Its noon-light splendor far, far exceeds 
The light of ten thousand suns we see ; 

And its glory halos the earthly deeds 
Of good once done by thee ! 

And while we worms, in our walls of clay. 
Lay thy empty shell 'neath the cypress tree, 

On thy new-found wings thou soar'st away 
Where all, where all are free ! 



HOPE DEFERRED. 263 

One form less to walk the earth — 
One ray more in heaven we see ! 

Mortal death and spirit birth 
Bring peace and joy to thee ! 
September 19, 1858. 



HOPE DEFERRED. 

WEARY, weary, endless longing — 
Heart-sick fancies ever thronging 
In the wake of visioned joys ! 
Why do these dark shadows thronging 
Shut out my joys? 

'Twas delusive hope, once sitting 
By my soul, then sudden flitting 

Far away when nearest me ; 
Like the bird in story, flitting 

From tree to tree. 

And she swept from out my heart-strings. 
With the i-ustle of her false wings. 

All their melody, and threw 
Dark'ning shadows from her false wings 

There, as she flew. 

Ah ! she trimmed her taper brightly 
By my hearth-stone, trimmed it nightly, 

And I hailed it with delight — 
But she ever bore it nightly 

Far from my sight ! 



264 HER SMILE. 

When I heard her rushing pinions 
Sweeping from the stars' dominions, 

Sprang my soul to meet her there ! — 
But she brought from those dominions 

To me a tear ! 

I grew weary, weary, weary, 
Weary waiting — oh ! how dreary 

Roll the moments told in pain ! 
Falling cold and still and dreary, 

Like autumn rain. 

As the moist breath of September 
Plays o'er Summer's fading ember 

And puts out the feeble spark — 
So delay pales Hope's faint ember 

Till it grows dark ! — 

And the heart, grown sick with longing. 
Sees pale fancies, thick and thronging. 

Ghosts of joys in spectral train — 
Wan despairs, in shadows thronging 

Thro' the craz'd brain ! 



HER SMILE. 

LIKE the golden gleam that flashes 
Thro' the gray sky's dewy lashes, 
When the day has spent in tears 
A penance for the wasted years, 



HER SMILE. 265 

And seeks its stormy couch in sorrow, 
With brighter promise for the morrow — 

Was her smile, that touched the cloud. 
Wont her azure eyes to shroud 
In leaden pall — with inward glory. 
Flashing forth a brighter story 
Than her cheek's wan hue could say, 
Where tears had washed the rose away. 

Coldly beautiful, as death 
Sealing fast an infant's breath. 
Was she ( or like that marble god , 
Which maid, impassioned, vainly woo'd). 
Until a smile broke o'er her face, 
Like light in alabaster vase ; 

Or like the beauteous summer lightning 
Day's white ashes inly bright'ning 
When its fires have smouldered low 
And only left a fitful glow 
On twilight's hearth, to gleam and flicker 
Thro' the evening's starry wicker — 

Then her features caught the glow 
Gleaming o'er their moulded snow. 
As rosy morning's beams will play 
Upon the white mist-folds of day 
In golden ripples — showing still 
That sunlight lay beneath the hill 

Of cold reserve her maiden pride 
Had raised, her wounded heart to hide, 
23 



266 LOVE AND THE MAIDEN. 

And coated o'er with chill distrust ; 
But thro' the frosty, icy crust, 
When broke the warm beam of her smile 
You saw the fire beneath the pile ! 

Ais Hecla's mount is w^rapt in snow 
While deep within the molten glow 
Of liquid lava seethes and burns 
Or flames away in space by turns — 
So many a heart's thus crusted o'er, 
Whose fires burn inward as of yore ! 



LOVE AND THE MAIDEN. 

A MAIDEN gazed from a castle wall 
Over a twilight sea, 
Watching the wavelets rise and fall 

And dimple with playful glee ; 
While the answering dimples in her cheek 

Told a merry heart had she — 
And the glance of her bright eye seemed to speak 

That heart, as yet, was free ! 
And she sang a lay, a merry lay, 

" Oh ! I would a maiden be, 
As glad and gay as yon waves at play, 

As joyous and as free !" 

But waves, you know, will ebb and flow, 
And maidens lose their glee ; 



JUST MARRIED. 267 

There's a sly, sly f©e doth bend a bow, 

And cunning aim takes he — 
Tho' bound his eyes, the arrow flies 

And striketh speedily ; 
Then off* mirth hies, while quivering sighs 

Proclaim the victory ! 
And changed the lay, the merry lay, 

That tells of a young heart free — 
" Ah ! well-a-day ! ah ! well-a-day !" 

Is the tone of the minstrelsy. 

The maiden kneels by the altar now, 

And not alone is she, 
For a manly form breathes a holy vow 

On lowly-bended knee ! 
And her sighs are stilled and her heart is filled 

With hopes, no longer free — 
By another skilled its pulse is willed, 

And a different lay sings she : 
" Oh ! never say that a maiden gay 

Is happier than she 
Whose lips shall say, ' Love and obey 

Till death parts thee and me !' " 



JUST MARRIED. 

LAUNCHED on. the bosom of the sparkling river, 
Thy little bark, love-freighted, seeks the tide ; 
Onward the rose-hu'd wavelets leap and quiver, 
As toward the deep, broad ocean swift they glide. 



268 yUST MARRIED. 

But not more rosy-hued the bright waves gleaming 
Than thy young hopes, which paint with rays of light 

The misty future, from dim distance beaming 

With radiance caught from thy fond fancies bright. 

Cloudless the sky to thy ensanguined vision. 

The morn of love with soft effulgence beams ; 
No shadows darken o'er the hues elysian 

Which gild thy waking thoughts and light thy 
dreams. 
Too trusting heart, that fancies bliss is real ! — 

That scans not close the beck'ning phantom bright, 
From whose gaunt form when fades the soft ideal, 

The flush of day gives place to gloom of night. 

O venturous voyager on love's deep ocean, 

Trim well thy sails, and ply with skill thine oar, 
Tho' soft the waves with coy and gentle motion 

Woo thee to leave the green and friendly shore. 
Think not they'll ever whisper low to greet thee — 

That sunny skies shall always smile above — 
The treacherous tide that sparkling springs to meet 
thee 

May ebb again, to strand thy bark of love. 

The clouds of dark distrust may shade thy heaven. 

And tinge with green the rose-light of thy sky — 
Brave not their rage, but heed the warning given 

When the first fleecy speck thou see'st on high ! 
For vainly wilt thou battle with the billows 

The demon, Jealousy, can raise at will — 
'Twere better thou wert laid beneath the willows 

Than dare the storm, which roused, there's naught 
can still. 



THE DROWNED MAIDEN. 269 

Let Reason take the helm, mild light distilling 

To guide thee safely thro' the passing gales 
By Passion raised ; and when too proudly filling 

With Love's soft sighs, are spread thy yielding sails — • 
Still trust the sober helmsman ; he will moor thee 

In safest anchorage, by day or night ; 
In every change of time or tide before thee, 

To Reason yield — he'll guide thy bark aright ! 



THE DROWNED MAIDEN. 

WHERE rolls the green billow and kisses the 
sand 
Of an Eastern sea-girt isle, 
There wandered a maid of a sunny land, 

Where the golden summers smile ! 
The glowing red of the ruby gleamed 

In her lips' warm, melting hue ; 
Of pearl was her brow, and the sapphire beam'd 
In her bright eyes' deepening blue. 

A Naiad sat on the rock's low side. 

Combing her long green hair 
With a coral branch, and the silvery tide 

Served as her mirror fair — 
When the maid drew nearer the rippling wave, 

The siren eyed the prize. 
And murmured — " Deep down in an ocean cave 

I will steal iier sapphire eyes ! 

23 -i^ 



270 THE DROWNED MAIDEN. 

" From her ruby lips I will drain the red 

To paint my car of shells — 
And I'll gather the pearl from her brow, to spread 

On the floors of my amber cells." 
Then she gently floated upon the crest 

Of a mighty billow near, 
And clasped the maid to her scaly breast, 

And laid her on Ocean's bier. 

But a wandering Peri of upper air 

Looked down with tearful eyes, 
When she heard the murmurs of wild despair, 

And caught the anguished sighs 
Of sorrowing friends ; and she softly stole 

To the watery couch of the dead 
And bore back the form — but ah ! the soul, 

The gentle soul, had fled ! 

For Hope had stood, with her taper trimmed, 

On that sandy shore's bright side. 
And the spirit had wandered back, undimmed, 

From the rush of that sweeping tide. 
And now with Hope it onward flies 

To the shores of the peacefulriver. 
Leaving earth's storms of tears and sighs 

For a calm that is broken never ! 



LIGHT AND SHADE. 271 



LIGHT AND SHADE. 

TIS the time when Spring, the rover, 
Wanders back to mead and down, 
And bids the daisy lift her cover. 
Golden tuft and silver crown ! 

When crocus buds peep from the grasses. 

In purple yellow, white arrayed, 
And apple blooms o'er leafy passes 

Shower paly stars beneath the shade. 

'Tis golden eve — the young primroses 

Sudden leap from buds to flowers. 
To watch the sun as he uncloses 

The gates of night in western bowers ; 

While in his track of fiery vapors 

The evening goddess mounts her car. 

And with her wand lights Heaven's tapers 
With blaze caught from the signal star 

That trembles on the purple banner 
Flung from Twilight's gilded towxr. 

Whose walls give back the glad hosanna 
Rising from folding leaf and flower ! 

An eve of beauty ! Oh what wonder 

Young hearts and wandering feet should stray ! 

Such tempting skies — such green boughs under — 
Oh, love should never sigh by day ! — 



273 LIGHT AND SHADE. 

" Wilt thou be mine?" The low words quiver 
Like Spring's soft sigh o'er ice-bound stream, 
And at the breath the ghad, wild river 

Dimples with smiles in day's bright beam. 

But wooing Spring, with gentlest praises 
Ne'er brought to wavelet softer glow 

Than paints the maiden's cheek, who raises 
Then quick lets fall her lids of snow. 

In that shy glance her soul revealing ; 

No need of words to tell the power 
That mocks the effort at concealing. 

And bursts all bonds in Love's own hour. 

Alas ! that hour comes in a life-time 

But once : like fair Hybiscus frail, 
That flaunts gay petals in the noon's prime, 

And the next hour droops withered, pale ! 

The Spring sang out her song of gladness — 

The Summer gayly caroled by — 
But when the Autumn's wail of sadness 

Showered withered leaves — Love droop'd to die. 

The peach-bloom faded to the lily ; 

The tender flower that Love had nursed. 
And Hope had ripened — shrunk, when chilly 

Cold Neglect upon it burst. 

Now nipping winds wave lichens hoary, 
And crimson leaves shower all unheeding 

Where shorn, bereft of all its glor}'-. 

The stricken flower of Love lies bleeding. 



THE LILT'S REPLY. 273 



THE LILY'S REPLY. 

LILY, drooping lily, 
Tell us why so pale ? 
Why, with wan cheek waiting 

In the mossy vale ? 
Weaving fragrant garlands 
Thy sister flowrets near 
Sport them in the sunbeams 
While thou sighest here ! 

Daisies freshly springing 

From the dewy grass, 
Send their smiles of welcome, - 

Sweet to all thaf pass ! 
Crimson-tipped anemones — 

Violets from the ground — 
Heliotropes and mignonette 

Scatter perfume round. 

Blushing in the sunshine. 

The conscious rose bends low 
Beneath the bright, warm glances 

That o'er her bosom glow. 
Is it that a rival 

Out-blooms thee in the vale. 
Whose flushing cheek makes white thine own. 

With blighting envy pale ? 

Ah ! no ;" the lily sighed — " the sun 
With fond, impartial beams, 

S 



274 THE HEAVENLY HOME. 

Smiles o'er the humblest floweret 
As on the proudest gleams ! 

But while they blush beneath his gaze, 
And plume their varied hue, 

Thinking that 'tis their beauty bright 
That from him claims its due — 

" I silent worship at the shrine 

Whence the bright beam and flower 
Derive alike their light and tint — 

Their beauty and their power ! 
Undazzled by the glittering ray, 

Unwarmed by flattery's tale — 
I wrap myself in Purity's 

Unspotted garment pale ! 

" It pains me not to see the glow 

By sister beauty shed, 
If loveliness must be her dower, 

And Faith's be mine instead. 
Beauty fast binds the mortal heart — 

To it earth's praise is given ; 
But Purity's the better part 

That blossometh in heaven !" 



THE HEAVENLY HOME. 

FAR, far beyond this vale of tears. 
Beyond the reach of mortal eyes, 
A heavenly mansion's dome appears 
Eternal in the skies ! 



THE HEAVENLY HOME. 275 

No earthly tower for mould and worm 
To sap, and laugh man's work to scorn — 

But on' the Rock of Ages firm 
Its hold can ne'er be worn ! 

The living waters lave its base — 

'Tis sheltered by the tree whose leaves 

Are healing balm — while God's own face 
Its light resplendent gives ! 

Its gates are never closed, for night 
Can come not in those blissful lands ; 

But Truth's pure rays illume with light 
The " house not built by hands !" 

Within this mansion's walls are met 

The pure, the upright and the few, 
Upon whose radiant brows is set 

The seal which stamps them true ! 

Oh early let thy footsteps roam 

To gates whose portals ope to peace — 
" The Spirit and the Bride say, Come !" 
Thy earthly wanderings cease. 

Behold ! the bright, the Morning Star, 
Whose light shall guide thee on the way : 

Oh when thou see'st its beam afar, 
Watch for the coming day ! 

Follow the light that calls thy soul — 

Thy 'nighted soul, tired of earth's race — 

Oh haste ! its glimmer speaks the goal 
That gives in heaven a place ! 



276 NEVER TOO LATE. 



NEVER TOO LATE. 

AS walks the kingly noon 
Where sang the morning stars, 
I hear the rosy feet of June 
Beating the golden bars ; 
And the pulse of the listening tide 
Throbs sweet to the tender tale 
That the south wind tells, of the waves that glide 
Where the Nautilus hoists his sail. 

A dreamy melody rings 

From the flowery belfry near, 
A silken sound of invisible wings 

That we hold our breath to hear ; 
And the yellow sunlight weaves 

In a gossamer mist the air, 
And borders with tinsel the velvet eaves 

Of the wild bee's leafy lair. 

Oh summer sits on the hill 

And sings to the lonely vale, 
Till the dimpling face of the laughing rill 

Is flashing adown the dale ; 
And Ocean old lays bare 

His brow, without a doubt 
That her breath will toy with his silvery hair, 

And smooth his wrinkles out 



Then, drooping human heart, 
Ope wide thy doors, and let 



CALEDONIAS WILD HARP. 277 

The sunshine in ! and buds will start 

From the fainting foliage yet ; 
Sweet Summer beckons thee 

From her shining golden gate 
Her regal state and stores to see — 

Murmuring. " Never too late !" 

See where she smiling stands 

Flower-crown'd in the year's ripe noon, 
And bids thee break from December's bands 

And list the voice of June, 
The icy mantle rent — 

Lo ! bursting from the sod. 
What starry eyes, what brows unbent. 

Look trusting up to God ! 

Why wrap thyself in doubt 

And shut out every ray, 
Girding a frosty belt about 

Such a sun-loving day ? 
Oh let its genial smile 

Thaw thro' the ice of fate. 
And lead thee to Hope's summer isle. 

Murmuring, " Never too late !" 



CALEDONIA'S- WILD HARP. 

OHARP of the hills ! oft I hear thy wild numbers 
Upon the deep breath of the mystical night. 
When o'er the dim vaults of my dream-haunted slumbers 
Arises in glory and grandeur and might, 
24 



278 CALEDONIA S WILD HARP. 

The bright star of Caledon, radiantly shining 

With knighthood's fair crest, while the Bruce led the 
day, 

And Wallace's deeds in their lustre were twining 
Their rich scintillations around its bright way. 

And low in my dreaming ear, over Time's ocean, 

Fall symphonies resonant still of old fame, 
That rouse in my bosom the wildest emotion 

To echo the refrains for Douglas and Graeme ! 
Wild harp ! has thy wizard note ceased its vibrations? 

Or is it the strain (when no longer I dream) 
That the storm-spirit sings to the clouds, when libations 

He pours to the gods in a crystalline stream ? 

Ah ! gone are the days, they live only in story, 

When wild border-minstrelsy thrilled on the gale ; 
But sometimes I see the McGregor in glory. 

With spear, sword and battle-axe sweeping the 
dale — 
Clan- Alpine's blue bonnets and tartans are waving, 

The while the war signal, the red-cross, flies on ; 
And harpists are telling the dangers they're braving — 

I look once again and the pageant is gone ! 

The centuries drop a deep curtain between us — 

The old harp is hung on the willow to rest ; 
But out of the mist rises Albin's blest genius, 

With a lyre wreathed with daisies clasped over her 
breast. 
And down where sweet Ayr to the green braes is 
singing 
A lowly love-ditty with musical turns. 



APATHETIC. 279 

The bright-pinioned spirit the gold lyre is bringing 
To lay at the feet of the shepherd boy, Burns ! 

And now, too, hath passed that sweet vision — all broken 

The chords whose wild melody spake to the heart, 
Whose depths they have sounded by many a token, 

And bade from its rock feeling's rivulets start. 
Oh where is the hand now to call forth new numbers, 

And sound for Old Scotia a soul-stirring strain. 
Till her ancient harp vibrates thro' all its deep slum- 
bers — 

Oh where is the harpist to wake it again ? 



APATHETIC. 

PUT your cup of sweets away, 
Summer ! I have drained the lees 
From the honied foam of May 

To such tasteless dregs as these. 
Lying like the withered leaves 

In the hollows bleak and bare — 
So my heart no longer grieves 
When your roses fade in air 

I have seen the crocus born. 

Yellow-tressed, from out the snow — 
And the sunshine kiss the morn 

Till her cheeks were all a-glow ; 
Seen the hawthorne's scarlet hood 

Proudly donned, when winter gray 



28o APATHETIC. 

Fled with his white-bearded brood 
From the flowery hosts of May ! 

Seen the brilliant daffodil, 

And the star-eyed daisy rise, 
Shaking off* December's chill 

When sweet April trod the skies — 
Heard the wild, melodious tune 

Which the wandering breezes play 
'Mong the chiming leaves of June, 

Beating rhythmic time alway ! 

Seen a softly golden haze 

Veiling forest, mead and down. 
When the Autumn's dreamy days 

Slumbered on the hillside brown ; 
Heard September's fretful tides 

Break upon the silver sand — 
Seen October's crimson ides 

Glowing o'er the burnished land ; 

And I've seen them pass away 

To the sombre churchyard shade — 
Red-lipped Morn and blushing May, 

Down where chilling graves are made 
Not a bud of hope that blooms. 

Not a leaf of trust that waves. 
But will whither 'mid the tombs. 

Fade within unpitying graves ! 

All my sweet faith now is dead ; 
So my heart no longer grieves 



MAD MADGE. 281 

When the Summer hides her head 

Underneath the fallen leaves. 
For my soul hath conned the page 

Time and sorrow only teach, 
That *tis useless, all, to wage 

War with things beyond our reach ! 



MAD MADGE. 

THE wailing winds mourn thro' the glen. 
The cloud-racks smother the moon ; 
A frightened star peeps now and then 

From its covert, but hides it soon ! 
The leafless branches toss and rattle 

Like murderers' bones in the blast — 
The spirits of air are doing battle, 
And their w^ar-steeds hurry past. 

A hooting owl from yonder height 

Screeches his omen dread — 
And flitting bats thro' the dusky night 

Are wheeling overhead ; 
While whirling along to the deafening shriek 

Of the reckless, crazy wind, 
The withered leaves in a mad, mad freak , 

Their dance of death have twined. 

On yonder gray rock's barren ledge 
What ghostly form gleams white ? 

Come nearer, see ! 'tis but Mad Madge, 
She sits and sings thro' the night. 

2-1 * 



2S2 MAI? MADGE. 

Deep down in the glen her lover's bones 
Have battened the w^olf in his lair — 

'Tv^as a night of storm heard his dying groans, 
When his rival laid him there ! 

Oh, Madge was the pride of our village green, 

Our dainty blossom rare ; 
No flower that bloomed 'mid the summer's sheen 

Could with our bud compare ; 
And each one sought to pluck the prize 

To wear on his manly breast, 
But one found favor within her eyes 

Above the rival rest. 

The hour drew near for the joyful rite — 

The day had risen in gloom 
And rolled along till a stormy night 

Spread for it a wild, wild tomb — 
And Madge, with her maidens, arrayed in white 

Awaited the tardy groom ; 
''Where lingers he on his bridal night?" 

Was her thought in that flower-deck'd room. 

Oh nevermore, oh nevermore 

Will the sound of his welcome feet 
Make music around that cottage door 

Her listening ear to greet. 
The moon looked down with a whitening cheek, 

On his life-blood's sanguine flow 
That painted the sod with a crimson streak 

Where the path thro' the glen wound low. 

'Twas the lightning's glare that showed his form 
To the searchers in the glen. 



MAD MADGE. 283 

That thro' the dashing, blinding storm 

Sought for the bridegroom then ; 
And a pale, pale cheek on his gory breast 

Was laid with a shudder wild — 
Poor Madge ! when they raised her from that rest, 

She was simple as a child. 

And now she wanders, a helpless thing. 

Her favorite haunt the glen ; 
On its rocky sides she will sit and sing 

When storms hide the moon, ye ken ; 
She will tell you her lover's cheek so white 

She sees in the murky cloud 
Where the veiled moonbeams tint with light 

The edge of the sable shroud. 

And when the red lightning flashes free, 

She will scream, " See there ! see there ! 
'Tis the crimson blood of his heart I see. 

That flows o'er his bosom fair ! 
Oh he rides the storm on a snow-white steed, 

I but linger till he hath passed — 
But if he beckon me. then indeed 

I will follow him at last !" 

A harmless wight is poor Mad Madge, 

Tho' her words are strange and wild : 
'Twere cruel to bind in a prison cage 

.Warped Reason's gentle child ! 
Her feeble step and paling cheek 

Show the strand of her life's undone — 
Let the pearls drop silently, nor seek 

To crush with a harsh step, one ! 



284 BOYHOOD. 



EPITAPH! 



DARLING Nannie sleeps beneath — 
A bud just leafing in the gloaming, 
When angels twined it in their wreath, 

And now it blooms where they are roaming 



BOYHOOD. 

OUT upon a croaker, 
A fault-finding dame — 
Who tries with bit and curb 

A bright boy to tame ; 
Who looks for threescore's wisdom 

In curly pate of ten ! 
(Inoculating babies 

With the gravity of men !) 

Who thinks a child's requirements 

Are compassed by a school — 
A bed and board and clothing warm, 

And all things done by rule ; 
Forgetting, in her zealous care. 

The proverb which doth say — 
That work a dull boy makes of Jack 

Without a little play. 

Give me a noisy, joyous one, 
Whose ringing laughter clear 



FLIR TA TION. 285 

Speaks youth's bright sunshine in the heart, 

Undimmed by sorrow's tear. 
An oasis in the desert, 

A flower on rough rock wild, 
In this weary, wasting world of care 

Is the glad face of a child ! 

Then leave, oh leave to childhood 

Its all-unconscious joy ; 
And chide not for his mirthfulness 

The merry-hearted boy ! 
Full soon the clouds of manhood 

Will throw their shadows grim 
Athwart the golden-tinted sky, 

And all its splendors dim ! 



FLIRTATION. 

SHE said she would meet me at twilight 
By the buttonwood tree in the dale — 
I held her soft hand while she promised, 

And gazed 'neath her lashes' dark veil ; 
Her brown eyes looked dewy and tender, 

Her little hand trembled in mine — 
Oh say not a part she was acting 

To lure one heart more to her shrine ! 

She came — when a crescent of silver 
The moon in the west hung so light — 



286 TO ''LEANDERr 

And I sprang thro' the clover to meet her, 
When lo ! an astonishing sight ! 

By her side was a six-foot protection, 
A thing of shirt-collar and hair — 

Whom she named, with a cool self-possession, 
And I hailed with a stupefied stare ! 

For a moment we stood like two canines 

Undetermined to bark or to bite ; 
Then wisely forbore to do either, 

And talked of the beautiful night ! 
That moon had scarce rounded to fullness, 

When orange-buds graced a fair brow ; 
The bridegroom was gouty, but wealthy. 

And six-foot and myself heard the vow ! 



TO "LEANDER." 

IN REPLY TO HIS LINES— 

"A request I would make, Millie ; 
It simply will be this : 
If affixed to your name, Millie, 
Is that little word— Miss ?" 

' 'nr^IS not ?i-7niss that you should make 

-L A laudable endeavor 
My brain-;;22i'-shapen foolscap folds 

Of mys-\js,xy to sever ; 
But do not i^/i'-interpret, pray, 

My motive — 'twould be grievous, 



TO '-leander:' 387 

If while I vow I'll not mis-lead, 
You label me mis-chwYous ! 



If " Miss" were tacked unto my name, 

It would be no j^^i'-nomer, 
For ^/5-construed I've often been, 

And mzs-)udged by each comer. 
And ^ 2*^-1 mp roved, I fear my time 

Is often mzs-employed 
In scribbling mzs-erahle rhyme 

And /;z/i'-cellany void. 

These mi's-ty products of my muse 

Are often, sir, ^2/5-printed, 
( But that's the printer's fault, you see. 

When lamp and eyesight's stinted !) 
I seldom am Tm's-ruly, sir, 

Tho' oft I send a missile, 
'Tis harmless (as ^/zis specimen) 

As down from off a thistle. 

And for my name — iW^-fortune 'tis, 

For every hope's w^V-carried 
( But do not from this mz's-conce'ive 

That I have been ;;z/5'-married). 
I do affirm I was 77zzs-hoi'n, 

And z;?/i'-appreciated 
Still remain ; and better so 

Than hapless be mz's-mated. 

And yet I am no mz's-anthrope, 
Nor scarcely mz's-affecied ; 



288 THE WITCH-HAZEL DELL. 

And ^^V-allied, I've shown I'm not — 

I'm only /^^/i'-directed ! 
And now, brave il^'^^-issippi's son ! 

I hope your faith's unshaken ; 
'Twill be thro' no ^/j-statement, sir, 

If you should be mis-taken. 



THE WITCH-HAZEL DELL. 

SHE wandered in the gloaming 
In the witch-hazel dell — 
Ah ! she waited for the coming 
Of footsteps cherished well ; 
November's sighs of sadness 

Around her wailing fell, 
But her heart knew naught but gladness 
In the witch-hazel dell. 

Not long had she to linger — 

For her ear soon heard a tale, 
And a ring pressed on her finger 

With its motto—" Do not fail I" 
Told she willingly had listened 

To the honeyed tones that fell, 
And with tears her eyelids glistened 

In the witch-hazel dell. 

Ah ! knew she not that vows breathed 
Where blooms this mystic plant. 



THE WITCH-HAZEL DELL. 289 

Were frail as curling smoke wreathed 
Where twilight's pale beams slant? 

The plant that flowers when leaves fall, 
But bears not fruit as well* — 

Shrouds lovers' hopes with a dark pall 
In the witch-hazel dell. 

When in her garb of beauty, 

Her robe of emerald green, 
Young Spring, as bound in duty, 

Tipped all the buds with sheen ; 
When o'er their mountain passes 

The sparkling streamlets fell. 
And when waved the scented grasses 

In the witch-hazel dell — 

In the gloaming still she wandered, 

But weary and alone. 
Her heart's best feelings squandered, 

Her household gods o'erthrown ! 
Vainly binding up the gashes 

That on her spirit fell 
When her love-fruit turned to ashes 

In the witch-hazel dell. 



* The witch-hazel flowers in the autumn and perfects fruit the next 
summer. 

25 T 



290 A PICTURE. 



A PICTURE. 

THE chequered sunlight, peeping 
Thro' the leaves of the old oak tree, 
Turned to diamonds the dew-drops sleeping 

On the green and flowery lea ; 
It lighted with merry dances 

On the brow of Childhood fair — 
And shone with its gleesome glances 
On Age's silvery hair. 

With his chin on his shrunk palm resting, 

The old man looketh on. 
Where playful children jesting 

Remind him of days that are gone. 
He sits at the cottage portal, 

An aged pilgrim gray. 
At one end of the chain that's mortal— 

At the other — those children gay ! 

Oh back o'er its links he wandered. 

In thought, to those joyous hours 
When moments were freely squandered 

In Childhood's happy bowers — 
Till his manhood's toils and heartaches 

Fade from his fancy wild, 
And he joins in their merry outbreaks. 

And seems again a child ! 

Like the breeze of autumn sighing 
Where leafless branches sway. 



MORNING. 291 

Or Echo's voice replying 

From ruins, old and gray ; 
Or the curfew's chime of sadness, 

That tells of the daylight gone — 
There came no strain of gladness 

In his voice's feeble tone. 

As well might December's snow-wreath 

Boast of the bloom of May, 
As the quivering voice of Age breathe 

The shout of Childhood gay ! 
The old man looks around him — 

The merry group has flown ; 
Gone is the spell that bound him, 

And he is left alone ! 

And back o'er the rusty links roll 

The memories that seldom sleep ; 
Awakening the past in his sad soul, 

Till he cannot choose but weep ! 
Comfort thee, aged mortal ! 

For near is the summons mild 
That will call thee to heaven's portal 

To be again a child ! 



MORNING. 

THE skylark has caroled his warning — 
The gate of the Orient opes, 
As the light aureola of morning 

Reflects from the dewy-gem m'd copse ; 



292 MORNING. 

And above, o'er the billowy ridges 

Of ether's cerulean sea, 
The rosiest amber-propp'd bridges 

Are spanning the realms of the bee. 

A wan cheek the moon has with waiting 

From earliest fall of twilight 
Till dawn, peering thro' its gray grating. 

Blows out the bright candles of night — 
And unfurls o'er the ramparts of crystal 

A banner of saffron ; which shows 
But a lone star, like lamp of a vestal, 

That with purity's radiance glows ! 

And see now the goldenest granules 

Of dust, o'er the arches that span 
With pearly and sapphiric pendules 

The emerald palace of man — 
Roll up ; and the fiery trappings 

That harness the steeds of the sun 
Shine out, as the sombre-hued wrappings 

Of envious nisrht are undone. 



'fc)' 



Away with bright pennons all streaming 

Of amethyst, ruby and gold. 
Is the chariot of Morning now gleaming — 

Its clear scintillations retold 
In each mirror of ocean or lakelet. 

Each silvery fountain or rill, 
Each dew-embossed leaf in the brakelet, 

Each rain-drop-spray'd twig on the hill ! 

The horn of the beetle is sounding. 
The pipes of the bee droning hum — 



THE LAST SLEEP. 293 

And the forest is gayly resounding 

With the woodpecker tapping his drum ; 

The sentinel mock-bird now hushes 
His challenge, as shrilly away 

Thro' the camp of the morning, blithe gushes 
Old Nature's untaught reveille ! 

Up, up where the cloud-tents' white awnings 

Are flecking the measureless plain, 
And down where the gilded adornings 

Of tassels wave o'er the bright grain — 
Thro' the glossy green plumes, gently bending 

Where the woodland's gay standard appears, 
Floats the matin of earth, that is lending 

A chord in the anthem of spheres ! 



THE LAST SLEEP. 

" I must sleep now." — Last words of Byron. 

REST for the throbbing heart and fiery eye, 
The fevered pulse and wild, unconquered will ! 
From the Eternal came the mandate hiofh 

That hushed the storm and murmured " Peace ! be 

still." 
Hate and contentious strife that once did fill 
His heart with desolation, and did roar 

Their notes discordant thro' his soul, until 
The strains Elysian, which his lyre would pour, 
Caught their harsh tones and with their bitterness ran 
o'er. 

25* 



294 THE LAST SLEEP. 

No more their vexed tides shall round him lave, 

Chafing his restless spirit in their hold ; 
No more he'll seek in elements that rave 

Companionship and brotherhood most bold ! 

Dreamless the sleep whose lo\v descending fold 
Wrapt in its chilling panoply his soul. 

Child of the universe ! within his hold 
The mountains high, the stars that o'er them roll, 
But playthings were to his most reckless, daring soul ! 

" After life's fitful fever he sleeps well !" 

No dreams of hopeless love or fiercer wail, 

Thro' the lone chambers of his heart no\v swell 
And unto caves and rocks breathe forth their tale 
Of bitterness ; spring decks the mossy vale 

With verdure, and the summer's noontide heat 

Paints with its warm, rich hues, the fruitage pale ; 

Autumn's and winter's howling tempests beat 

Alike in vain — they cannot pierce the grave's retreat. 

But may w^e not, with seer-inspired eye. 

View the illimitable fields of space, 
And mark his transit o'er the realms on high ? 

His progress thro' their starry wonders trace ? 

As his freed spirit standeth face to face 
With w^orlds his eye had peopled from afar — 

Now 'scaped from clayey clods, its onward race 
Thro' Nature's mysteries, there's naught can mar — 
As in its upward flight it speeds from star to star ! 

The thunder's mighty secret now revealed — 
The liffhtninoc's subtle essence analvzed — 



ALWATS REMEMBERED. 295 

Naught from the clear-eyed spirit's gaze concealed, 
But all that heart of bard had idolized — 
The wonders of creation, eulogized 

In earthly verse — made comprehensive, plain ! 
Angelic harps, to his well harmonized, 

Celestial wonders trill in rapturous strain. 

Till all the Poet's soul renews its fires again ! 



Who envies not such sleep — v^hen life no more 
Glows with the freshness of its early hour? 

Who 'mongst us can with cunning hand restore 
The bloom and tint to rudely-rifled flower, 
Or paint with noontide rays the twilight hour ? 

Who would not lay his weary head to rest 
When cold Reality asserts its power 

And stifles Fancy's dreams within the breast? 

O grave ! then ope thine arms and leave to God the 
rest ! 



ALWAYS REMEMBERED 

FAR o'er Life's surging sea 
Wind and tide bear me on — 
Far, far from love and thee 

I am gone ! — 
Gone from the home of years — 

Parted in sorrow — 
Dimly, thro' blinding tears, 
Dawneth the morrow ! 



296 ALWATS REMEMBERED. 

Say, was it well in thee, 

Was it well to heed them — 
The fiends who counseled thee ? 

Didst thou need them ? 
Coldly their work they've done, 

Rudely to sever 
Hearts that else had beat as one, 

Ever, for ever ! 

Not such my love for thee — 

Swayed by each passing breeze 
Of envy or calumny — 

Oh, not by these 
Could doubts of thy truth be sown 

In my heart ; 
Hastening the hour on 

That bid us par<:. 

Oh can the love of years 

Thus lightly stifled be ? 
Those who have wept our tears 

And joyed to see 
Our smiles — oh say, can they 

Turn with altered brow 
Coldly from us away, 

And spurn us now ? 

Alas ! for human love. 

And friendship's vainer term — 

Words traced in sand will prove 
As truly firm ! 

Scattered by passing gales 
The sand sweeps the shore, 



PSALM CXXXVIII. 297 

So Malice breathes her tales, 
And love is o'er ! 

Well, well then be it so, 

Since thou hast will'd we part ; 
'Twere best from thee I go. 

Though swells my heart ! 
I do not claim the right 

To force thy will — 
I only ask to be 

Remembered still ! 



PSALM CXXXVIII. 

WITH my whole heart, O Lord of Light ! 
Before all gods thy praise I'll sing ; 
Unto thy holy temple bright 

My grateful praises, Lord, I'll bring ; 
For when with anguish sore oppressed 

My feeble heart for help did cry. 
Thou strengthened my o'erburdened breast, 
And hushed my sad and trembling sigh. 

The kings and princes of the earth 

Their homage yet to thee shall bring ! 
When from thy lips they learn thy worth, 

Their songs of praise they'll joyful sing ! 
Yet tho' thou, Lord, exalted art. 

The lowliest may to thee draw near — 
*Tis but the proud and stubborn heart 

That stands aloof in doubt and fear. 



298 HOW TO PRESERVE TOUTH. 

Tho' clouds of grief around me roll, 

Thy smile of love shall chase the gloom ; 
Tho' treacherous foes would pierce my soul, 

Thy strong right hand shall ward the doom ! 
My faith's unbounded. Lord, in thee ! 

Thou wilt perfect what thou'st begun : 
For ever flows thy mercy free — 

Thou'lt not forsake thy work ere done. 



HOW TO PRESERVE YOUTH. 

WOULDST know 
The secret, child of clay, 
How, Hebe-like, the steps of Time 
Thou ever mayst delay — 

Twining thy brow, thro' life's long hours, 
With chaplets of unfading flowers? 

Wouldst have, 

As roll the years away, 

Thy heart renew its youthful fires, 

Nor know nor feel decay ? 

Then list — the secret's easy told. 

How thou may'st keep from growing old. 

Arise ! 

Shake off* the deepening gloom 

Which clouds thy soul with hues of night 

And murmurs from the tomb ! 
A selfish sorrow, we are told. 
Indulged in, soon will make us old. 



HOW TO PRESERVE TOUTH. 299 

So live 

That each day's setting sun 

Will close upon some good resolve, 

Or worthy action done ! 

Thus keep thy heart from getting cold, 
And fear not that thou shalt grow old. 

Old friends 
Whom thou hast proved and tried, 

Whom good report or evil word 
Found ever at thy side 

Still true, to thy fond bosom fold ! 

Such friendship's always young — 'tho' old ! 

Ne'er turn 

With cold, averted eye 

From child of want, who in thine ear 

Breathes poverty's sad sigh. 

Relieve ! — his thanks, worth more than gold, 
Thee shall ensure 'gainst growing old. 

Ne'er sit 
With silent lip and eye 

When calumny, foul whelp of ill ! 
A friend doth vilify — 

The sneering whisper check ere told ; 

By listening such you'll soon grow old ! 

And when 
The beldam. Rumor, 'round 

With trumpet tongue and brazen voice. 
Some scandal doth resound — 

Help not the tale of slander told — 

An evil tongue soon maketh old ! 



300 HOW TO mE SERVE TOUTH. 

Be kind 

To all who o'er your path 

With wandering steps may chance to stray ; 

Kindness a power hath 

Most potent in its spell to hold ! — 

The heart which owns it ne'er grows old. 

Turn not 

From him whom others slight, 
Because he wears a seedy coat ; 

Your conscience will feel right 
If needy virtue you uphold — 
By doing so you'll ne'er grow old. 

Laud not 

With honors rare and high 

The moneyed villain who with wealth 

Can hide iniquity ! 

Help not to cover crime with gold — 
No surer way to make you old. 

But keep, 
Through every change of life, 

A firm resolve and purpose high. 
Prepared to meet each strife — 

A conscience that cannot be sold ; 

And Time will fail to make you old ! 



THE WIND AND THE SHOWER. 301 



THE WIND AND THE SHOWER. 



H 



ARK to the wind's low wail, 
As with sobbing voice to the flying clouds 
It murmurs its plaintive tale ! 
. The sorrowing moon her white face shrouds 
Beneath a misty veil ; 
While the cloudlets a moment pause and listen, 
And soon with soft tear-drops their fringed lids glisten ; 
Heaven's starry eyes, with pitying gaze. 
Grow dim and shed but watery rays — 
For the sad, sad wind, with breathings low, 
Whispers a tale of long, long ago — 

When the infant earth, in its Eden bloom. 
Rosy and bright 
In its early light. 
Knew naught of sinful gloom ! 
When the new-born zephyr with dallying wing. 
Fanned the young buds to blossoming 
Or kissed into life the opening flowers. 
To grace with sweets those primal bowers — 
And had never breathed o'er a guilty world, 
And fierce, defiant mutterings hurled. 

Ay, grieve, thou moaning Wind ! 
And tell to the stars thy sorrows wild : 

Thou ne'er again canst find 
The careless joy of the happy child, 
The innocent peace of mind. 
As when free and unfettered thou danced along 
To the joyous music of childhood's song, 
26 



302 GOOD AND EVIL. 

And the maddest freaks of thy wayward will 
Were to curl in soft wavelets the sparkling rill ; 
Or to lift from the face of the blushing rose 
Its leafy veil, and its sweets disclose ; 
Or to steal on a beam of the setting sun 

To the evening star, 

From whose dewy car 
Thou'd shower the bright drops thy sighs had won ! 
Woe for the hour when thou turned away 
From the happy light of youth's glad day, 
And fiercely o'er manhood's stormy path 
Poured out thy bitter vials of wrath ! 
Well may all Nature drop pitying tears 
When thou wail'st forth thy plaint of early years. 



GOOD AND EVIL. 

NOT all of evil nor all of good 
Is thine, O Man, below ! 
Nor thine to question the wise decrees 

Of Him who made it so ! 
There's an undercurrent we cannot see 
That wends with life's stream along. 
Bearing the waifs on the tide that float. 
Whether for right or wrong. 

The beautiful glowing sunset clouds 
That have charmed us so at even. 

Have held the fierce lightning's scathing shaft 
That the stoutest oak hath riven., 



GOOD AND EVIL. 303 

The silvery leaves of the almond bough, 

And the kindly fruit it bears, 
Hide a deadly poison that lurketh low. 

As among the wheat lie tares. 

But, Man, in thy Maker's image formed, 

Thine in the God-like work 
To find the bright grain of good — and where 

Each evil seed may lurk. 
To crush it down with an iron heel 

Tho' it spring in thine own heart. 
And hold aloft the golden flower 

That blooms from the weeds apart. 

Thy heart deep down in its shady nooks 

Hath many a slender shoot. 
That only waits for some kindly hand 

To water its tender root 
To spring into tropic glory bright 

And tell of the genial soil 
That under a sterile surface lies 

Awaitinsr the needful toil. 



^& 



We know that the wayside weed will grow 

Apace in the meadow rank. 
But the gardener's hand must prune the tree 

And trim the flowery bank 
To forms of beauty and grace, to charm 

The critical eye of taste — 
Then why not prune the flowers of the heart ? 

Nor let them run to waste. 

Not all of evil nor all of good, 
Is awarded each mortal's lot. 



304 MT ENEMT. 

But his the fault if he fails to find 

In his heart the genial spot 
Where kindly culture may bring to light 

Some little leaf, to show 
That a ray of sunshine has pierced the sod. 

Tho' all seemed dark below. 



MY ENEMY. 

OUT in the churchyard she sleeps to-night 
Under the cold-eyed moon ; 
And the will-o'-wisp is dancing light 

To the night-wind's hollow tune, 
Where the white stone stands with its letters bright 
To tell of her clouded noon ! 

She was mine enemy — alas ! 

That the eyes of Day look down 
On human enmity — but I pass 

That page without a frown ; 
There is no life, I ween, but has 

Such a dark leaf folded down ! 

I said, " mine enemy" — but still 

She met ine with song and wile ; 
The world, when it saw her the goblet fill, 

Ne'er dreamed of lurking guile — 
But Judas kissed his Lord with a will. 

And betrayed him with a smile ! 



MY ENEMY. 305 

And now she lies in her narrow bed, 

All helpless for weal or woe ; 
This life hath its hollow lustre shed, 

And the grave is dark below ! 
Poor white lips closed ! — Their ire all fled — 

What more can they harm me now ? 

This little heart's-ease sprang from the sod 
Where she lies in her dreamless sleep — 

Perchance it proclaims her peace with God ! 
And no bitter feelings creep 

Toward a fellow-worm who hath sorely trod 
The path that she helped to heap 

With the poison-thorn and prickly brier 

Of unjust calumny. 
I would I could lift my vision higher. 

And see what she now doth see, 
When the sting of death and each low desire 

Is swallowed in victory ! 

But I may not stand by the sea of glass 

That laveth the golden throne — 
I can only kneel on her grave as I pass. 

And my free forgiveness own. 
And weep as a mortal must weep that has 

Such a dark leaf folded down. 
26* U 



3o6 TELEGRAPHIC. 

"BE STRONG IN THE LORD." 

[ Ephesians vi. lo.] 

BE strong in the Lord, in the power of his might, 
And clothed with his armor stand forth for the 
right. 
When wickedness rules in high places, and sin 
Casts the die for the rulers of darkness to win — 
Be ye strong in the Lord ! 

His safeguard, the breastplate of righteousness, wear, 
The girdle of truth wrap around thee with care. 
And sandal thy feet with the gospel of peace 
(Jehovah will give in the harvest increase) ; 
Be ye strong in the Lord ! 

Stand forth with the sword of the Spirit, his word ! 
And pray in the spirit — thy prayers shall be heard, — 
That evermore thou shalt be able to stand 
When the spirit of evil stalks forth thro' the land. 
And be strong in the Lord ! 



TELEGRAPHIC. 

" A bark in sight — bound in." 

BARK in sight, bound in" — 
So runs the swift despatch ; 
A bark bound in from stormy seas. 
Where tempests brew and hatch. 



"A 



TELEGRAPHIC. 307 

A bark bound in, with a freight 

Of human hopes and fears ; 
A bark that has bravely battled with 

The great deep's smiles and tears. 

A bark bound in ! Oh we know 

How many a venturous sail 
Spreads snowy wings o'er Ocean's caves 

And dares the treacherous gale, 
Lured by the wooing breeze 

And kissed by the mad-cap wave, 
Till down in the dreadful dark abyss 

It sinks where whirlpools rave. 

'' A bark in sight — bound in !" 

Oh, out and hail her now 
Clap hands as she throws the sparkling spray 

From off her cleaving prow ! 
For she is a wondrous thing. 

Endowed with life and light, 
And comes to us laden with messages 

From the land where is not night. 

For she says, when we cast adrift 

This coil of life, and steer 
For the vast unknown, if our hulk is strong 

No tempest can make us fear — 
If we have but stanchions fast 

And rigging and rope and spar. 
And trust to the faithful Pilot Star 

That points to our home afar — 

Right royally we'll sail 

By the lighthouse flashing bright, 



3oS ''OUR FATHER." 

Thro' boiling wave and surging foam 
And dark cloud-ridden night ; 

Right royally we'll fling 
Our pennons to the breeze 

When past death's stormy cape we glide 
Into celestial seas ! 

O bark of life, we know 

Thou must battle with the waves 
And sink or float, as thy strength holds out, 

Or thy trust in the Hand that saves ! 
But joyfully thou'lt thrill 

When the sweet seraphic din 
Echoes the heavenly telegram — 

" A bark in sight — bound in !" 



"OUR FATHER." 

" And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his 
Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father." — Gal. iv. 6. 

FATHER, Creator, thy Spirit is here — 
Lo ! when the Word was made flesh, full of 
grace, 
Then the true light by thy will did appear 
Shining and bright in a desolate place. 
Father, Creator, we welcome the light. 
Guiding us out of the gloom of the night. 
Help us its brightness more perfect to see — 
Father, Creator, we lean upon thee ! 



DREAMS. 309 

Father, Creator, we lean upon thee 

In the deep darkness — as children in sleep 
Feel that the mother is bending the knee 

And o'er them her vigil doth wakefully keep. 
Father, Creator, bend down from above, 
Loving us still with a motherly love. 
With the Christ-heart that has borne human pain, 
Father, Creator, look on us again ! 

Father, Creator, look on us again — 

Tho' we are erring, thy children are we ; 
Scourge us and chasten, if only by pain 
We can be brought to the penitent knee. 
Father, Creator, thou gav'st thine own Son 
To teach how the heavenly goal may be won — 
Oh when we faint 'neath the cross, then bend down, 
Father, Creator, and show us the crown ! 



DREAMS. 



WHENCE come ye, dovelings of the night ! 
Is it from some starry height 
Ye flutter down on noiseless wing 
And in the soul's deep chamber sing? 
Piercing the mists of sleep — as thro' 
The rifted vapor smiles the blue — 
Ye come, like the bright gleams of heaven 
When the cloud-pall's dark fold is riven ! 

Dreaming ? 

Ay, " 'twas but a dream !" 
I saw thine eyes with fondness beam, 



3IO DREAMS. 

friend of other days ! on me ; 
Coldness hath come 'twixt me and thee — 
But to the dream-land I may hie 

And meet thee there, nor shun thine eye ; 
Its veil of scorn is flung aside — 
The cold, dark folds no longer hide 
Thy heart, but in its depths I see 
The mirror faithful still to me ! 

When at the voice of sleep, my soul 
Escaped the body's harsh control, 
It sought thee in the silent hall 
Of dreams ! Thou camest at my call ; 
Methought a mask thy features hid, 
All save thine eyes ; beneath each lid. 
With the old look I joy'd to see, 
They shone — oh fondly shone on me ! 
And thro' those windows of the soul 

1 read thee, as I would a scroll 

Masked we all are — but to me 
Thine transparent is ; I see, 
Not only in the dream-light now, 
Tho' curled thy lip and cold thy brow — 
Down thro' the misty veil, a place 
Thou can'st not if thou would'st erase, 
Within thy heart — where still enthroned 
The love is which thy lips once owned. 
Ah ! if I've read the dream aright, 
Not vain these visions of the night ! 



REST. 311 



REST. 



D 



JNG! dong! dell! 
Hark ! 'tis the chime of a passing bell- 
What does the iron-tongued messenger tell ? 

Rest ! rest ! rest ! 
A pure, pale brow on the green sod press'd, 
And meek hands folded o'er icy breast ! 

Ding ! dong ! dell ! 
A deep tone speaks in the tolling bell 
As its hollow voice sounds the parting knell : 

Dust ! dust dust ! 
Mortal, return to it thou must — 
'Tis written so by a Being just ! 

Ding ! dong ! dell ! 
Thro' the hushed air, with a billowy swell, 
Conies the solemn voice of that old church-bell ! 

Life! life! life! 
What is it at best but a ceaseless strife, 
With warrings of soul and body rife? 

Ding ! dong ! dell ! 
Oh when those sounds for me shall tell 
The last of earth, may all say, " How well !" 

. Death ! death ! death ! 
'Tis but the stopping of this faint breath 
To win a bright immortal wreath ! 



312 LTRA, 



LYRA. 

" There Lyra, for the brightness of her stars, 
More than their number eminent ; twice seven 
She counts, and one of these illuminates 
The heavens far around, blazing imperial 
In the first order." 

WHEN the ripened Summer's golden 
Twilight paints the western portal 
Of that palace where the olden 

Constellations dwell immortal. 
And the dusky night is flitting 

In and out her starry bowxrs, 
Ere with crown and sceptre sitting 

She holds court thro' darkness' hours — 

Comes sweet cadence, softly trilling 

Plaintive air and heavenly measure 
From a golden harp's strings — filling 

All the spheres with rapturous pleasure !- 
Orpheus' lyre — now constellated — 

( He who wrought in Dis a paean — 
In gloomy realms of Pluto — fated 

To leave his head in Sea Egean !) 

Lyra ! group of matchless splendor ! 

Music's deified, pure essence ! 
Flooding with thy stars so tender 

Midnight's halls with iridescence — 
Beauteous constellation ! art thou 

The recipient celestial 



LYRA. 313 

Of the sweetest strains which part now 
From the nether shore terrestrial? 

Soft, persuasive echoes, blending 

With the melodies of Eden 
Like repentant sighs, and lending 

Earth new beauties — while they lead on, 
Over sin's dark night victorious. 

Over death, despair, and madness — 
Tell us, may not music glorious 

Change earth's woes to breathing gladness ? 

" Yes !" Thine eyes with brightness glowing, 

Scintillate reply celestial ; 
Telling — cadences sweet, flowing 

Upward from the realms terrestrial, 
Are messengers that speak to heaven 

With angel tongues, tho' earthly pleading ! — ■ 
And error e'en may be forgiven 

When such blest sounds to good are leading. 

Lyra — golden harp immortal. 

At the gate of Eden trilling ! 
Speak to man ! and say, That portal 

He may gain, by ever filling 
Full his heart with all harmonious 

Notes of sweetness, and discarding 
Envy's discord harsh, erroneous — 
. Which his upward flight's retarding ! 
2r 



314 THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST. 



THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST. 

JUST as the golden gate of sleep vibrated 
To my calm'd pulses' even-tempered flow, 
And blest forgetfulness o'er all that grated 
Upon my heart-strings, came to soothe my woe — 
Soft from the silent hall of dreams, a spirit 

Glided, with moonlit robes and shadowy brow : 
A mark was there — the seal which all inherit 

Who've found their idols clay, and air each vow ! 

Deep in its misty eyes were tombed wild fancies. 

The painted bubbles youth delights to blow — 
And flashing lights were there, and dreamy glances 

That gleamed upon the heights of " long ago !" 
And there were blended hues of deeper feeling, 

Loves and remembrances now faded, gone — 
Or wraith-like, thro' sleep's ivory portals stealing 

To chant a dirge and tell of pleasures flown. 

Within its hand a wand of fairy lightness 

Parted the curtains of the solemn night. 
And flashing o'er the gloom, with radiant brightness. 

Came the long-lost but fondly-welcomed light 
Of early days — with amber-tinted glory 

Gilding the edges of each warning cloud 
Gathering to tell Life's stormy, wrathful story, 

In low, deep mutterings, or thunders loud. 

Back from the bower, the happy bower of childhood, 
Floated a mother's voice, so soft and low, 



THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST. 315 

It seemed but echo sending from the wildwood 
The sounds it caught and treasured long ago ; 

Snatches of song, the early loved and cherished, 
Blending with prayers my infant lips were taught 

By her, true friend ! who but untimely perished, 

With love had chased the gloom by falsehood wrought. 

Sweet were the tones, more tangible, more real, 

They came to cheer my heart in midnight's gloom — 
" Live !" spake the voice — " live in the bright ideal ; 

'Twill smooth thy lonely passage to the tomb ! 
Phantasmagoric, life at best a dream is, 

Gilded to some, to others darkly drawn — 
That is a happy heart where but one beam is 

That struggles with earth's clouds for brighter dawn. 

" Forget the present, with its dark surroundings — 

Backward o'er Memory's ocean steer thy bark 
And moor it in the mirrored Past's aboundings, 

Lighted by holy Love's undying spark ! — 
Thus may'st thou call thy treasures back, and borrow 

From Fancy's loom a mesh to deck the rod, 
That purifies with every earthly sorrow — 

And for thy future, trust it to thy God !" 

It ceased — that holy voice ! Perchance a ripple 

Broke o'er the waves of ether where they roll 
Thro' space — parting the spirit-links, the triple 

Chain that bound the dim Past, my mother's soul 
And mine, in sweet communion, pure and lonely, 

In midnight's solemn hour, the deep, profound ! — 
And now my heart, cheered by remembrance only, 

Paces the Past's all-hallowed arches round ! 



3i6 THE WORLD BE TON D. 



THE WORLD BEYOND. 

" In the beautiful world beyond." 

Mrs. Southworth's Island Princess. 

NO waif of humanity, cast on Life's ocean, 
To breast its dark waves or float light 'neath its 
smile, 
But has rested a while from the billow's commotion 

Upon the green breast of a magical isle — 
An isle in the sea of futurity sparkling, 

Where each as a sovereign may rule without wand ; 
Whose shores 'twixt the sunrise and sunset lie dark- 
ling, 
And shut out the beautiful world beyond ! 

Oh who, in the visions of youth's sunny morning. 

Has not longed for a glimpse of that mystical clime 
Which the veil of uncertainty hides — while adorning 

Its myth-peopled realms and air-castles sublime? 
And who when the shadows of age o'er them stealing 

(Reality's shadows, that darken hopes fond) 
Has not sighed that the curtain was e'er drawn reveal- 
ing 

How false were the hues of that far world beyond } 

O Pilgrim ! whose footsteps have wearily measured 
Earth's broad aisles in search of green pastures of 
rest — 

Who hast lost by the wayside each object once treasured, 
And buried each hope in despair's chilly breast— 



ODD FELLOWSHIP. 317 

Look up ! see yon heaven, with its wide arms en- 
folding 
The shores of the sunrise and sunset, so fond ; 
Then pass thro' Death's portal, in rapture beholding 
The goal of thy dreams in that bright world be- 
yond ! 



ODD FELLOWSHIP. 

Written for the celebration, in New Orleans, of the Fortieth Anni- 
versary of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows in the United 
States, April 26, 1859. 

THE chimes of Eighteen hundred years 
Have circled thro' the rolling spheres, 
Since angels over Bethlehem's plain 
Hymned a sweetly solemn strain : 
" Peace on earth, good-will to men !" 
And winged winds have harped since then 
The hallelujahs deep, that rang 
As when the sons of morning sang ! 

Eighteen hundred years have sped — 

And from the thorns that bound His head 

Who bleeding hung on Calvary, 

Have sprung the buds of Charity — 

The flowers of Friendship, Love and Truth — 

The bloom of Hope's perpetual youth — 

The silver leaves of Faith's white tree, 

To wreathe the brow of Unity ! 

27* 



3i8 ODD FELLOWSHIP. 

Brave workers in a noble cause, 
True unto God's and Nature's laws, 
Have wrought a mystic chain to bind 
Earth's family of human kind — 
For while Odd Fellowship abides. 
O'er stormiest swells of sorrow's tides 
The golden links shall stretch, to save 
Each brother from the threatening wave. 

The widow's tearful eyes shall speak 
The thanks denied her utterance meek — 
• The orphan's grateful prayers shall swell 
The " songs of praise" the angels tell ! 
And when the reaching chain has grasped 
The world's wide bounds, and nations clasped, 
Then shall we see that glorious birth 
Which prophets say awaits our earth ! 

Then hail ! the blessed trinity 
Of Faith and Hope and Charity ! 
Hail ! the links, dropp'd from above, 
. Of Friend&hip, Truth and holy Love ! 
Angels hailed the golden morn 
When the Prince of Peace was born ! 
Angels may unite again, 
And echo o'er our deep amen ! 



THE ODD FELLOWS' MISSION. 319 

THE ODD FELLOWS' MISSION. 

[ Written for the same occasion as the foregoing.] 

TRUE pioneers of right, we stand 
In armor staunch to-day ; 
And proudly o'er our native land 

Behold our happy sway. 
Not subject to the despot's nod 

To circumscribe our span, 
Our golden faith is, " Love of God 
Includes the love of man !" 

We may not claim the conqueror's wreath. 

The hero's gory crown — 
Our task's the wreaking sword to sheathe, 

And turn to smiles the frown ! 
And tho' the storm-fiends may be proud 

Who wake the tempest's din — 
'Tis much to lift the sable cloud 

And let the sunshine in. 

The earth is gray, the earth is old, 

And time's a passing breath ; 
But hearts where Love is never cold 

May conquer grim-brow'd death ! 
And deeds of mercy rising high, 

Above old error shriven, 
Make golden ladders to the sky, 

On which to mount to heaven ! 



320 THE MORNING COMETH. 

THE ANGEL CHILD. 

" /"^OME with me, mother," the angel child 
V-x Whispered, with eyes that strangely smiled — 

" Lonely and drear will the journey be 
Thro' the misty dark, if I go without thee. 

" Come ! I will guide thee to bowers of bliss ! 
'Twas angels that sent me to tell you this — 

" I come from a bright and smiling band 
To lead you to their happy land !" 

And the mother closed her eyes, with faith 
In her angel guide thro' the gates of death ! 



THE MORNING COMETH. 

THE morning cometh — the heavenly morn 
That ushers in the glorious day 
When kindreds and tongues and nations born 

From darkness, shall bask in the sun's bright ray. 
The Sun of Righteousness ! — widely his beam 

Shall pierce the depths of the deepest gloom — 
Shall glow in Ganges' unhallowed stream — 
And warm the desert to life and bloom ! 



THE MORNING COMETH. 321 

The morning cometh — the blissful morn ! 

'Tis singing now on the hill-tops near ; 
Far over the rolling ocean borne, 

The heavenly anthem ringeth clear ! 
The wild floods hear and clap their hands, 

The heathen isles shake off' the night — 
While the glad warm earth, new-mantled, stands 

In garments of redeeming light ! 

The morning cometh — its Herald Star, 

The Star of Bethlehem, points the way ! 
The clouds of darkness are fleeing afar 

Before the bright, all-perfect day, 
Which prophets and saints of old foretold — 

When Messiah's name shall illume each clime, 
Shall pierce the gloom of Idolatry's fold, 

And eternal day chase the night of time ! 

The morning cometh — awake ! arise ! 

Shake off* the dust from thy garments fair, 
O Captive Daughter of Zion ! Sighs 

No more shall echo thy heart's despair ! 
And thou, Jerusalem — loose the band 

That has bound thee long to the night's dark side — 
Redeemed, thou shalt stand, like the Promised Land 

That smiled o'er Jordan's golden tide ! 

The morning cometh — the holy morn ! 

When radiant upon Zion's hill 
Are the feet of him with good tidings borne. 

Who to Zion saith— " Thy God reigneth still !" 

V 



322 EVENING. 

The watchmen shall in unity 

Lift up their voices in wrapt accord, 

And joyful sing, " Oh blessed is he 

That Cometh in the name of the Lord !" 



EVENING. 



WEARY Day, its course nigh run, 
Distanced by the fiery sun. 
Paler grows and longs for rest 
In the chambers of the West — 
Breathes a low, expiring sigh, 
Closes up its round red eye, 

And, like the faithful Indian bride, 
Dies because its mate has died. 

See the timid evening star, 
O'er the sunset heights afar. 

Trembles as the dancing ray 

Ignites the funeral pyre of day. 
While the twilight's bark of blue, 
Rimm'd and barr'd with silver dew, 

And rosy pennons floating free, 

Skims along a purple sea. 

Up the slanting bridges bright. 
That span the gulf 'twixt day and night, 
Fair Dian's crescent's silver sparks 
Light the chase in starry parks 



THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE. 323 

Where the crystal fountains play, 

And the vagrant zephyrs stray 
Kissing open the bright eyes 
Of the glow-worms in the skies ! 

Eve with rosary of stars, 
Like a pale nun thro' the bars 

That lattice in her convent cell. 

Gazes over grove and dell ; 
Faintly sounds the vesper bell : 
As the sweet notes sink and swell, 

The drowsy cattle slowly come 

From hill and dale to sheltering home. 

Now the cloister's curtain falls — 
Night opes wide her ebon halls ; 

Lights her alabaster lamps ; 

Scatters far her dew and damps 
Wanton winds in revelry 
Shout their wild hilarity — 

Pensive nun in revery 

Seeks her couch and breviary ! 



THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE 

GOLDEN bronze as a lion's eye, 
Or amber drops in a sea-bird's lair, 
Or flashing topaz from Araby, 

Is the sunny dash of her nut-brown hair. 



324 THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE. 

Sparkling jewel, the queenly Clare ! 

But her rich red lip is wreathed in scorn — 
Coral and pearl are gleaming there, 

Like the berry and bloom of the poison thorn. 

Ye would not give one dreamy glance 
Of the violet eyes of Maud, sweet Maud, 

For all Clare's haughty looks, that dance 
Like soulless rays from tinseled gaud — 

Maud, the chaste and tender flower, 

Timid mimosa, sensitive, shy — 
Knowing not the wondrous power 

Veiled 'neath the lash of her downcast eye. 

Maud, the gentle, of simple race, 

Who ne'er owned a rood of greenwood bower- 
Maud, whose wealth is her own sweet face : 

Never maid hath a richer dower ! 

Lady Clare hath acres broad. 

Vassals serve her on bended knee ; 

But one hath kneeled to the humble Maud, 
Who bows not to the proud ladye — 

One who claims from mother earth 

The heritage only Nature gives — 
Not lands that are his right of birth. 

But a heart of truth that truly lives ! 

Ah ! Lady Clare, you boast your share 
Of this world's wealth, but it cannot buy 

The jewel you secretly pine to wear, 

Tho' you curl your lip and flash your eye. 



THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE. 325 

No glittering ray from your richest gem, 

Tho' prison'd sunbeams gleam from the gaud, 

Can halo you with the diadem 

That love has wrought for the brow of Maud ! 

And ever the bells ring merrily — 

Merrily forth from the belfry old ; 
And the Lady Clare sits scornfully 

Braiding her tresses like threads of gold ! 

Braiding her tresses with costly pearls — 
For the bells peal forth for the bridal day, 

And the village girls wreathe Maud's bright curls 
With the pouting blooms of the early May. 

And Clare must give the bride away — 
Every chime from the old church tower 

Ringing, singing, seemeth to say, 

" Maud will be lady of Glenwood bower !" 

Ye've seen the lurid light that gleams 

In the folded cloud when the tempest's nigh ? 

Ye've watched the red electric streams 
Flashing athwart the mist-wrapt sky ? 

But what are these to the flaming eye, 

Burning beneath its lid of snow, 
Of Clare ? — as the fatal hour draws nigh 

To stamp her life with the seal of woe. 

***** 
28 P 



326 THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE, 

" Thine for ever !" is whispered low, 

And Maud is Lady of Glenwood now ! — 

" Never ! never !" — a shriek, a blow, 
A crimson tide, a ghastly brow — 

And village maidens with roses wreathed, 

And priest in sacerdotal stole. 
Rise with the prayer on their lips half breathed, 

As the old church rings with a inaniac howl — 

" In the dark valley go seek your bride. 

My Lord of Glenwood ! — ye spurned my prayer. 
Ye cast to the winds my maiden pride, 
And ye reap the stormy revenge of Clare ! 

" Ring, old bells, ring out again ! 

Peal me a merrier, happier lay — 
Tell of the dusky burial train, 

The narrow house and the couch of clay ! 

" The spectre bridegroom waits to-day 

He clinks his bones in his noisome cell — 
Ring, old bells, ring a roundelay, 

I've given the fair bride with him to dwell ! 

" I've pledged her deep in ruby wine. 

See ! it stains the bridal robe of snow — 
No bursting pulse from the purple vine 

E'er throbbed with life like its crimson flow. 

" Ho ! knight and squire and page, ho ! ho ! 
Fill high, fill high to the fair ladye ! 
Not Lady of Glenwood — no, no, no ! 
But queen of a greater realm is she ! 



THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE. 327 

" Bride of the king of terrors ! See ! 

And her wide domain, the grave ! — ha ! ha ! 
'Tis a green retreat where no rivah'y 

Save with the worms, there'll be. But ah !" 

And the burning eye took a softer shade, 

The quivering lip a sadder tone, 
As the scarlet cheek began to fade, 

And the pulses faint, of the maniac one — 

" Ye'll never know, poor gentle Maud" 

( She kneeled by the pallid corpse the while), 

" When your head lies lowly beneath the sward. 
What 'tis to pine for a loving smile — 

" What 'tis to worship some golden ray 

From a sunny heart, that is not for you — 
As the wrecked mariner sees away 
O'er the wide waste of waters blue, 

" A snowy sail that tells of home. 

Of hope and rescue from perils drear ; 
Then fades away in the ocean foam. 

Nor heeds the wretch that is perishing near ! 

" Ye passed away while your life was love. 
And rosy sweet will your dreamings be 
In the mossy nest — poor, harmless dove ! — " 
That my wild hand has given thee. 

" And is there not a nook for me ? 

I come from my eyrie in the clouds 
And lay me down all pantingly, 

While thy snowy plumage my brow enshrouds ; 



328 AN EXCUSE FOR RHYMING, 

" Room, for the wounded bird to die !" — 

The writhing limbs have ceased to move ; 
A quivering lid — a low-drawn sigh — 

And the eagle lies at the feet of the dove ! 



AN EXCUSE FOR RHYMING. 

''T^WERE pleasant could we clothe in verse 

X Our daily thoughts, and speak in rhymes ; 
And poetry is none the worse 

For ending in these pleasing chimes. 
A happy thought cannot be spoiled 

By smoothly giving it a finish ; 
Tho' captious critics long have toiled 

The Rhymster's merits to diminish. 

The Rhymster may not be a Poet — 
But when 'tis so we soon will know it ; 
For words that burn will make their mark — 
The lightning's bright electric spark 
From heights empyrean claims its birth, 
While grosser fires are chained to earth ; 
The lark that carols from the sky 
Is known from birds that lowlier fly ! 

But deem it not an idle thing 

For Nature's worshiper to sing ; 

To seek in Rhyme's soft, flowing measure 

A tuneful vent for harmless pleasure. 



SELF- C OMMUNING. 329 

For verse is melody divine, 

When pleasant thoughts harmonious chime — 

'Tis like the setting of sweet words 

To music's softly thrilling chords. 

Unlike the tender swan ( that pours 

Her life-breath in a rapturous lay 
And dies, in telling she adores 

The golden hours that throne the day) 
Are hearts whose gushing harmony, 

Like the young bird, must find a wing. 
And flooded with sweet melody 

Must give it vent — must die or sing ! 



SELF-COMMUNING. 

COMMUNING with myself, I ask 
My heart the reason why 
I love as well the ashen cloud 

As the blue, stainless sky } 
And why the cheerless autumn days 

Have still for me the charms 
Of Spring, all blushing, when she clasps 
Young Summer's outstretched arms? 

I know not. But I think my soul's 

A waiflet of the mist — 
Born when our mother. Nature, kept 

A blessed eucharist — 

2S* 



330 SELF-COMMUNING. 

And left a wayside foundling at 
The trembling gate of tears, 

Where Heaven's own bow of promise still 
Its radiant circlet rears ! 

For when I think my life is vain — 

I cast my eyes abroad 
Upon the fields of golden grain 

Fed by the smile of God ! 
The virgin lilies, clothed with grace, 

Who toil not, neither spin — 
And then I ask myself, which race 

Hath the best boon to win ? 

For surely if the Father's love 

Is poured on flower and tree. 
His " last, best work" must claim a share 

E'en from Divinity ! 
For what He does He doeth well, 

And I, His wayward child, 
For some wise purpose have been sent 

To tread Life's desert wild. 

And I am thankful to the power 

That's given unto me — 
The eye to pierce the darkest cloud 

Its silver side to see ; 
For in the stormiest sky I trace 

The hand of Love Divine, 
Pouring with ever gracious palm 

The sacramental wine ! 

And thus, communing with myself, 
I feel the cheerless days, 



A STORM r SUJVSET. 331 

The burden and the heat I've borne 

The steep and thorny ways 
My weary feet have sorely pressed, 

I still must fainting plod, 
If I would share His grace who hath 

The burning ploughshare trod ! 



A STORMY SUNSET. 

» 

THERE was a hush on leaf and flower — a pause 
Of terror, which foretold the coming storm. 
The crimson curtains fring'd with gold that hung 
Above the couch of Night were closely drawn 
To shield the sun, that hid his sleepy face 
An hour too soon ! 

Behind the battlements 
That waird the North, an inky fortress of 
Misshapen clouds arose, from whose dun towers 
A thousand gayly-painted banners waved 
Fantastic folds, as parting rays of light 
Changed their gray gauze to rainbow-tinted hues. 

High where the zenith reared its stately dome. 
Chaotic darkness hung a leaden shroud 
Which laid a funeral pall on Day's blue eyes, 
And with unearthly sighs and mutterings told 
Of desolation. One by one, the fires 
Round Sol's bright car of light expired — and forth 



332 A STORM T SUNSET, 

The spirit of the storm sped on his wild, wild work ! 

Huge bombs, hiui'd downward by demoniac hands, 

Exploded, and their burning fragments cast 

Now near, now far : the fiery rocket flew 

From cloud to earth, and with it brought dismay ; 

The mad winds raised their voices, howling forth 

Fierce anthems of exultant rage ! 

Oh wild 
The revel of the elements ! But now 
Their mother. Nature, heard the angry clash, 
And parting the dark curtain of the clouds, 
Look'd out upon her warring children ; then 
Bow'd low her head and wept ! Tears, copious tears 
Stream'd forth upon the earth — and, at the sight. 
Her guilty children, one by one, retired. 
Stilled in each fiery bosom the fierce rage 
That thus could draw from parent's eyes such drops 
Of blinding agony ! 

Her grief was hushed ! 
She stayed her gushing tears, and raised her eyes 
In thankfulness devout ; then, as still hung 
Upon her fringed lids the pearly drops — 
The sun arous'd from his siesta light 
And sent a stray glance upward, which just touch'd 
Those glittering drops with many color'd dyes. 
And bound her forehead with a rainbow crown ! 



A SOLEMN MARCH. 333 



A SOLEMN MARCH. 

LO ! 'tis the conqueror, Death ! 
With his captives wan he is marching on 
The path he has trod since creation's morn — 
His is the victor's wreath ! 

His sweeping scythe lays low 
The parent trees in our household groves, 
All that the heart most clings to, loves, 

With his shrouded army go ! 

Far over mount and vale, 
The phantom train are hurrying fast. 
For Pestilence rides the wings of the blast. 

And brings its trophies pale. 

The hoary brow of Age, 
And Manhood's locks in their ebon flow. 
Are bowed in the van of the conqueror, low — 

To his power there is no gauge. 

Away ! away ! away ! 
He sweeps from our homes their budding flowers. 
The clinging vines from our cherished bowers — 

The beautiful ! the gay ! 

See the fair bride now pass 
From the ivied church, with a merry train — 
The archer aims his dart again, 

And turns his empty glass — 



334 ^ SOLEMN MARCH. 

Another victim's placed 
III his sheeted ranks, and the bridal wreath 
Is laid at the feet of the tyrant, Death, 

That Love's brow should have graced. 

A mother shrieks, " My child !" 
He has torn the babe from her quivering breast 
(Oh ! where will it find so pure a rest? — ) 

And mocks her anguish wild ! 

He ranges the earth's broad dome, 
And he tramples kings 'neath his icy feet 
As he does the outcast in the cold street 

Dying for want of a home ! 

Ermine or beggar's garb — 
'Tis all the same, so a human heart 
Qtiivers beneath, as his fatal dart 

Wounds with its poisoned barb. 

But an angel of inercy, he 
To the sorrowing comes, the sorely tried 
Who long to soar — but their wings are tied — 

To the land where the spirit's free ! 

Then softly come, O Death ! 
When the weary would fain lie down to sleep, 
And the faded eyes would cease to weep— 

Come with a gentle breath, 

And blow out the tiny flame 
That flickers and glares in the socket so. 
And keeps the poor body in fretful glow — 

Come ! and we'll bless thy name ! 



THE MAGICIAN. 335 



THE MAGICIAN. 

NO lean, wrinkled necromancer, 
Qiiaintly garbed — 
Nor weird Hecate, witch-dancer. 

Adder-barbed — 

» 

Neither good Old Mother Fairie, 

Gift-laden — 
Nor spectral hobgoblin, nor airy 
Elf-maiden — 
Nor sprite, nor fay, that drew the veil Elysian — 
But sweetest sorcerer and holiest Magician ! 

Choked by the dark tares of sadness, 

Each bright seed 
I'd dropped on my wayside's gladness 

Sprang a weed ! 
Sharp thorns grew where fairest roses 

Should have bloomed — 
As sack of honey-bee discloses 

The sting it tomb'd ! — 
While Hopes glad beam flashed only meteorical. 
And truthfulness in aught seemed fable allegorical ! 

Yet in this, my darkest midnight. 

Dawned a ray 
Bright'ning to broad, perfect noonlight — 

Glorious day ! 
All the misty vapors rolling 

From my brow, 



33^ THE GREATEST IN HEAVEN. 

And with golden pen there scrolHng — 
" Blest art thou ! 
Who, groping in the labyrinth of fell sorrow, 
Hast met the sibyl, Faith, to gild each coming morrow ! 



THE GREATEST IN THE KINGDOM OF 

HEAVEN. 

" At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is 
the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" — St. Matthew xviii. i. 

HE took a little child, and in 
Their midst He sat him down, and said : 
" If ye that heirdom seek to win, 

Turn from the devious ways ye tread 
With vaunting — for, unless ye be 
As humble as this little child, 
And with such faith believe in me. 
Ye cannot share my kingdom mild ! 

" And woe to that man who offends 

One little one that on me calls ; 
He'd better lie where sullen wends 

The dark, deep sea thro' crj^stal walls — 
For these are they whose angels see 

My Father's face, which is in heaven ! 
Then one of these despise not ye. 

Lest ye in turn be unforgiven !" 

So spake He ; and when face to face 

With conscience and with God we stand. 



ACCORDING TO THT GIFTS. ^ 337 

And He who died for us, in grace 
Sits at Jehovah's strong right hand ! 

Not ermined state or sceptered power, 
Nor knightly fame of high degree, 

Will be to thee as rich a dower 
As lowly-born humility ! 

For 'twill not then be asked the line 

Of kings thou hast descended from ; 
The right to heritage divine 

Lies in the good to man thou'st done ! 
Thy nightly prowess may have rung 

And blazoned in high heraldry. 
But deeds of mercy will be sung 

Above the deeds of chivalry ! 

And earnest faith — the childlike faith 

That lowly bends the reverend knee, 
And looking thro' the darkness, saith 

" Our Father," in sincerity — 
Is all that is required to make 

The greatest in that land divine ! 
Accept His word, and fearless take 

The hand that's bent in love to thine. 



ACCORDING TO THY GIFTS. 

ACCORDING to the grace 
That by the will Divine is given thee, 
Whate'er thy calling, do it faithfully 

According to thy grace. 
29 W 



33S ». ACCORDING TO THT GIFTS. 

Let love be without guile — 
Thy honored part, to give thy brother place 
When thine by right of precedence the race — 

Thus, love is without guile ! 

Open thy larder wide, 
And share thy cnjst with him whose need demands. 
The widow's cruse was filled by angel hands — 

Open thy larder wide. 

Rejoice with them that joy. 
Tho' fortune may not smile just then for thee, 
'Twill solace thee another's bliss to see — 

Rejoice with them that joy ! 

And weep with them that weep. 
How soft from Friendship's eye the tender tear 
Falls on the heart ! Sw^eet sympathy is dear — 

Oh weep with them that weep ! 

Seek not earth's titled ones. 
But condescend to men of low estate — 
He that is least on earth, in heaven is great ! 

Seek not earth's titled ones. 

Bless them — bless and curse not — 
Which persecute thee ; for thou sow'st a seed 
That beareth sweeter fruit than cursing's weed 

And thorn. Bless, and curse not ! 

According to the gifts 
Thou hast received at thy Maker's hand, 
Thy stewardship must be within the land, 

According to thy gifts. 



JEAN INGELOW. 339 

But whether great or small 
The trust reposed in thee, thou still canst find 
Some chord responsive in thy brother's mind, 

Whether he's great or small. 

Then seek the trembling string, 
And touch it with the tender hand of Love — 
You'll hear it echo from the courts above, 

If you but touch the string ! 



JEAN INGELOW. 

" Jean Ingelow is twenty-eight years old, unmarried and homely !" 
-Newspaper paragraph. 

HOMELY ? Ah, me ! the diamond hath 
A dark encrusted shell. 
But lapidaries know a gem 
Is hidden there full well. 

The purest pearl that ever graced 

A queenly diadem. 
Was incubated where the rocks 

Old Ocean's wild waves stem. 

The luscious fruits of tropic climes 

Have rough outsides, but there 
The honey of Hymettus finds 

Its own sweet hiving rare. 



340 NOTHING TO LOVE. 

The violet and the mignonette 
Are " homely" little flowers, 

But summer hath none sweeter in 
Her dew-bespangled bowers. 

Ah ! would we only know the worth 

Of spirit-beauty, then 
We might select the beautiful 

Of women and of men. 

But now we through a glass but see 

Too darkly to do this ; 
But when as soul to soul we stand 

We shall achieve that bliss. 

Then, sister Jean, my "homely" one, 
How glorious thou'lt shine 

Where cherubim and seraphim 
Shall hail thee all divine ! 



NOTHING TO LOVE. 

" Alas !" said she, " I have nothing to love." — Extract fram a letter, 

NOTHING to love? With the arching skies 
Bending above thy head. 
And looking love with unnumbered eyes 
That o'er thee radiance shed ? 



NOTHING TO LOVE. 34 1 

Nothing to love? When the beauteous earth 

Lays her emerald crown at thy feet — 
And holds to thy lips, at each floral birth, 

Her perfume-chalice sweet ? 

Nothing to love ? With an eye to see, 

And a heart to feel ? Not so ; 
For Nature's breast has a pulse for thee 

That ever will ceaseless flow. 

Nothing to love? Why the world is fill'd 

With the lovable, the pure ; 
And the chords of thy soul must have sometimes thrill'd 

When angels have swept them o'er ! 

Nothing to love ? Oh a loving breeze 

Is kissing now thy cheek ! — 
There are myriad things that the true heart sees 

To love, if we only seek ! 

A voice comes up from the flowery heath, 

A tone from the dancing wave — 
And Love is the whisper of every breath. 

And the music the billows lave. 

And Love is the theme that the seraph choirs 

Are hymning now thro' the stars — 
And we catch the strains from their golden lyres 

When our soul lets down its bars ! 

Then say not that you have naught to love 

And none to love you^ — when 
Ye know there are links from the chain above 

Clasping the sphere of men ! — 
29* 



343 THY FAITH HA TH MADE THEE WHOLE. 

But love all things, for He made them all ! 

And you near his throne above 
When you love His v^orks — the great and small- 

For God himself is Love 



cc XHY FAITH HATH MADE THEE WHOLE." 

[St. Matthew ix. 22.] 

"T"^WAS not the glory shining from His brow, 

X. 'Tw^as not a magic in His garment's flow 
That healed the stricken woman kneeling low 

To kiss His robe ! "Thy faith hath made thee whole," 
He said. And down the centuries still roll 
The words of cheer to many a fainting soul. 

That, groping in the dreary depths below, 
Would blindly stumble, knowing not where to go. 
But for the light within, whose steady glow 

Christ's hand hath kindled and his breath hath flred. 
To lead us thro' the darkness all untired. 
Up where the golden pinnacles are spired ! 

For we are voyagers wlio gayly sail 
Away from land unwitting of the gale 
That perdu lies within our very " hail !" 

But Faith's our pilot when the storm beats fast, 
And all our sails are riven from the mast. 
Our bark of life a plaything for the blast. 



LIFE'S MISSION. 343 

And Hope, our anchor, wrenched from out its stay — 
While on the rock of sin the breakers play 
And treacherous undercurrents lead alway. 

But, steady ! see, our Helmsman good has spied 

A little glimmer o'er the boiling tide. 

And toward the friendly lighthouse on we ride, 

O'er lashing wave and wrecking billow, on ! 
Past low Despair's dark-surging Phlegethon, 
Until the wished-for, heavenly goal is won. 

Where shines the crystal lamp whose silver flame 
Comes rippling down Time's tidal sea — the same 
The lowly Nazarene hath given to fame ! 



LIFE'S MISSION. 

POOR hands, scar-stained with labor, 
Soft palms uplifted high. 
Ye ask a benediction 

From the Ruler of the sky — 
Whatever these hands findeth 
To do, use all their might ; 
'Tis thus the great Creator 
Has armed us for the fight. 

Has given us god-like reason, 

A strong enthroned king. 
That we with mind may govern 

Each sublunary thing ; 



344 LIFE'S MISSION. 

May crush from out our natures 

The animal and low, 
And give with loving kindness 

A kiss for every blow. 

And bravely to the battle 

Go armed with truth and love, 
Our banner, the branched olive 

Brought by the weary dove. 
Who stemmed the raging waters 

And battled with their strife, 
(Just as poor human bipeds 

Breast the wild waves of life) 

And passing all the whirlpools 

That led to Ocean's cave, 
Found the green leaf Earth offered 

From out the watery grave ; • 
And we may also find one. 

However tempest-beat. 
If with unflagging pinion 

We seek the mercy-seat, 

And learn Life's mission truly. 

And trusting, look on high. 
And ask a benediction 

From the Ruler of the sky ! 
Poor hands, scar-stained with toiling. 

Soft palms, in prayer upraised. 
If ye've learned to labor truly, 

God's name ye've truly praised. 



EPICEDIUM. 345 

EPICEDIUM. 

[DR. E. K. KANE, OBIIT, FEB. i6, 1857.] 

A STAR has fallen ! From the empyrean heights 
An orb of light has set in depths profound ! 
A while it shone o'er space, a beacon blaze 
To guide to mighty deeds ; a shining mark, 
Which with a startled glance we upward gazed 
To contemplate — and lo ! it was no more. 

A nation mourns, a hero is laid low ! 
Not his the glory purchased with the wild 
And anguished widow's cry — the orphan's wail — 
The bloody fame won o'er the reeking corpse, 
The gory, headless trunk and mangled manes 
Amid the carnage of the battle-field, 
Where men like demons hew God's image down. 
Till more like work of foulest fiend it seems — 
The impress left by Deity, to stamp 
His work divine, defaced and blotted out 
By seething, boiling passions, and desire 
For what the world calls glory ! 

His the meed, 
The nobler meed of fame — the laurel wreath 
For conquest over self! that shadow huge 
Which darkeneth our bisst resolves, and comes 
Between us and our duty. But with firm, 
Unflinching soul, that looked far, far beyond 
The narrow confines of a mortal's span 



34^ EPICEDIUM. 

Of life — man's little hour ! — he freely gave 
His all of life to benefit mankind. 

His country's pilot, he ! And when the stars 
And stripes shall fill with Arctic breezes, and 
Unfurl their glories 'neath the Polar star, 
Which from the zenith shall look down upon 
Its sisters which the spangled banner grace. 
Then shall a Nation's heart with proudest throes 
Swell earnestly and high, and long and loud 
The name of ^'KANE" shall ring from pole to pole ! 

Peace to his hallow'd manes ! 

Not only on 
The marble cold his epitaph engrave — 
But on his country's heart, in words that burn. 
We'll trace, " He gave his life, a stepping-stone 
For Fame to sound his country's triumphs to 
The world !" 

Train o'er his sepulchre the bay, 
As tribute of a Nation's grateful heart. 
And watered by a Nation's sacred tears ! 
New Orleans, Feb. 24, 1857. 



THE EARLY DEAD. 347 



THE EARLY DEAD. 

" It was among the loveliest customs of the ancients to bury the 
young at morning twilight ; for as they strove to give the softest in- 
terpretation to death, so they imagined that Aurora, who loved the 
young, had stolen them to her embrace," 

BEAR forth the early called, to rest 'neath the 
grass, 
While the garments of morning brush the dew as they 

pass — 
Bury them when the first beam that steals from the 

skies 
Trembles in the depths of the violet's blue eyes. 

Let no wail of sorrow break forth o'er the beds. 
With their downy moss coverlets, where ye rest their 

young heads — 
'Tis no crumbling, dark sepulchre, with its foulness and 

gloom. 
That will cover them with mildew and the blight of the 

tomb — 

But a soft couch of roses, where the glad voice of morn 
Will call them from slumber to sport with the dawn 
In the crystal-columned palace that rises in the East, 
With its many colored windows, thro' which the day is 
pressed. 

Oh lay them where the glow-worms will light up the 

grass 
As the dark-browed night with its shadow doth pass — 



34^ THE EARLY DEAD. 

On their grave's green sod let each lark build its nest, 
And soar upward with their spirits when the dawn is 
in the East. 

Oh mourn them not as those whom Death's cold clasp 
Hath severed from your love to languish in his grasp — 
A soft voice came whispering, which you could not 

hear. 
At its call their souls listened with a smile and a tear ; 

It came o'er them stealing like the low sweet hymn 
That their infant spirits heard ere heaven's light grew 

dim — 
The melody of Eden, ere their souls had lost their 

wings, 
Or the stains of earth had darkened their angel lyres' 

strings ! 

Oh wonder not they listed those tones from on high 
That ever called, " Come, come away !" It was not to 

die 
That they followed the windings of that soft, mystic 

horn 
Across the golden bridge to the pearly gates of morn ! 

Oh rejoice that the sorrows and regrets of age 

Will never leave a blot on their memory's pure page — 

That from earth they have passed in their spring's 

green hour, 
Ere withered was a leaf or faded was a flower. 

Oh gem their graves with daisies whose silver crowns 
Will shine with a glory o'er the soft green downs 



THE STAR OF JUDEA. 349 

Where their spirits when they hover in the morning 

hours 
Will touch with their pinions the golden-tufted flowers. 

Oh lay not the early called 'neath the cold stones 
Where the sad willow weeps and the wild wind moans, 
Where the churchyard's gloom with its skeleton eyes 
Will look a reproach at their spirits in the skies — 

But write o'er their graves, with God's own flowers, 
A hymn of thanksgiving that they've passed to the 

bowers 
Where sorrow cannot enter — where night has passed 

away — 
And morning has ushered in eternal noonday. 



THE STAR OF JUDEA. 

" And lo ! the star which they saw in the East went before them 
till it came and stood over where the young child was." — St. Mat- 
thew ii. 9. 

GLIMMERING down from far-distant spheres. 
Thro' the long arches where multiplied years 
Slowly and solemnly file to the shades — 
Ray upon ray twinkles, brightens and fades ; 
World upon world and sun upon sun 
Flash out existence ! Which is the one 
Whose quivering beams led the men of the East.^* 
Star of Judea, where shineth thy crest.? 
30 



350 THE STAR OF JUDEA. 

* 

In the mild spring-time, when green leaves again 
Send their bright promise of seed-time and grain — 
In the warm summer, when valley and hill 
Tell of the vintage their sweets can distill — 
In the dun autumn, when the fruit-laden bin 
Groans with the spoils of the year packed within — 
O'er yon blue ether, in season, each star 
Rolls to its throne in the deep vault afar. 

Leo, rampant, with his bright train appears, 
Just as he's done thro' centurial years ; 
Arcturus, hounding the Bear, still drives on 
His bruinish trade, as 'twere just but begun ; 
Virgo still weighs out the nights and the days 
With justice, which crowneth her heavenly ways ; 
And Scorpio lashes his fiery tail 
Thro' summery skies, as a farmer his flail. 

Lyra attuneth her lyre, as of old, 

Capricorn enters the Zodiac's fold — 

Aquarius, Pisces and Aries appear, 

And Taurus and Cancer, as year upon year 

In the wide field of creation takes part. 

Star of Judea, wherever thou art 

In the great galaxy, point us thy place I 

Let us not lose thee, tho' jostling the race. 

We know from yon heaven hath silently passed 
Orb upon orb of the many that glassed 
The sparkling cerulean ; — thine, too, perchance, 
In its bodily light, may have sent but a glance 
O'er the hills Oriental — and so, passed away ; 
Implanting the germ of the all-perfect Day 



THE STAR OF JUDEA. 351 

That, breaking in glory from Zion's bright brow, 
Shall gladden the waste places desolate now. 

Star of Judea, if mythic thou art, 

Viewed by the erring and weak human heart 

Which seeth so dimly thro' eyes mortal blind — 

Thy mission, mayhap, is but illy defined ; 

Teach us thy meaning — we ask for more light ! 

By thy beams we are led to the manger to-night : 

There thou standest still ! Is thy duty fulfilled ? 

And must we solve the problem — tho' sadly unskilled ? 

Star of Judea, a faint dawn appears 

Just where the gray shades are tombing the years — 

Each, as 'tis sepulchred, points to the sky, 

Where brightly thy splendors shine out to Faith's eye ! 

Over the manger and Babe lowly born. 

Past the rough cross and the crown made of thorn, 

Till merged in a flood-tide of glorj', its light 

Fills the city celestial where cometh not night ! 

Star of Judea, immortal ! shine on, 
Till all of the crown by the cross we have won ! 
Guide us o'er hill-top and valley and plain — 
We bring, as the Wise Men, our offerings again ; 
Not myrrh and frankincense, but penitent sighs 
And prayers that are voiceless and suppliant eyes ! 
Step by step lead us to Jesus' care. 
Star of Judea, then pause with us there ! 



352 JUDGE NOT. 



JUDGE NOT. 

WHEN thy fellow-sinner weighing 
In the balance, look within, 
Down in thy heart's mausoleums 

Where thou'st buried many a sin ; 
Tear away the mould and mosses 

Which have gendered, year by year ; 
Let there be a resurrection 

Of the dry bones gathered there : 
In the silent, white-faced spectres. 

In review thus passing on. 
One may rise whose cold hand hideth 

All thy brother may have done. 

One may rise, who, with wan finger 

Pointeth to a nameless mound 
Where thou thought to hide for ever 

Some transgression under ground ; 
One gaunt skeleton may rattle 

All his fleshless limbs, to show 
Where thy heedless feet have stumbled 

In the life-path here below ; 
One may turn his empty sockets 

With an awful questioning stare, 
Asking, " How thy fellow-mortal 

Thou to judge shalt boldly dare ?" 

How shalt thou, of flesh the offspring, 
Dare condemn what flesh may do, 



BORN. 353 

When the great Incarnate Spirit 

Sits in judgment over you ? 
For the judgment ye shall measure 

Shall be measured you again, 
When Death's harvest-time shall open 

All the stores of joy or pain. 
Oh be merciful ! the erring 

Trust to the Almighty hand — 
For thou gainest naught, condemning 

What thou canst not understand. 



BORN. 



PAUSE, Pilgrim, pause ! and ponder on the word- 
The little v^ord that on the threshold stands 
Of our existence, and the spirit calls 
Forth from the unknown mist, to act its part 
In Life's uncertain drama ! — Born ! 
For what? As heir to Man's inheritance. 
His gilded hopes and loves — his hates and pains ! 
Launched on Life's turbid ocean, with its waves 
To war, and " sink or swim" as fortune rules 
The tide. Born — but not buried ! " there's the rub" 
( 'Twere well did we but oftener think on it). 
For none can tell what threads are wove by Fate 
To trip our heedless feet while wand'ring o'er 
The winding path that circles to the tomb ! 
Oh ! let us not, with pride-inflated hearts, 
Boast of our strength, and think by it alone 
30* X 



354 ARISE ! 

To stem the whirling pools that eddy to 
Destruction — oft it fails us in the time 
Of need, to show us of what flimsy stuff 
'Tis made ! But let our prayer still ever be, 
Oh lead us not into Temptation's path, 
But from all evil. Lord, deliver us ! 



ARISE! 



ARISE! 
The light-voice messenger of Morn 
Breathes o'er the poppies' eyes. 
And softly whispers 'mong the waving corn ; 

Sweet Fragrance wanders with her perfume cup 
Amid the bowers where rose and jasmine twine 

Their leaves ; the lark is up 
And hymns a lay ; the Orient's jewels shine — 

Arise ! 
Nature lifts up her great heart to the skies ! 

Arise ! 
The golden noonday sun pours down 

His yellow rain, his eyes 
Of fire pierce the round acorn's cup of brown 

And draw^ the tender sapling from the sod — 
So, when the beams of Truth upon the heart 

Fall from the mount of God, 
They warm good seeds till their dark shells they part 

And rise 
In stately trees that tower to the skies ! 



ARISE! 355 

Arise ! 
Eve whispers it unto the stars ! 

They raise their sparkling eyes, 
And showering radiance, mount their silver cars 

To breathe their nightly messages of love 
To mortals groping in the dreary dark — 

Bidding them look above 
When shades of earth obscure their hope's bright spark : 

"Arise!" 
They murmur — " All is brightness in the skies !" 

Arise 
Above thy sorrows, child of clay ! 

Lo ! faith is born of sighs, 
As from the night's dark side springs glorious day ! 

The stately ship that ploughs the pathless deep 
Would never reach its port did calms prevail — 

And thou, when dark woes sweep. 
Art borne the nearer heaven on the gale ! 

Arise ! 
The phoenix from her ashes seeks- the skies ! 

Arise ! 
Thro' Heaven's court seraphic din 

Fills all the echoing skies. 
When thro' the gates of death a soul goes in ! 

Oh folded hands ! Oh closed and rayless eyes ! 
Why do we mourn thee — we that linger here ? 

When peace so calmly lies 
On thee — and angels call around thy bier, 

"Arise, 
O soul redeemed from earth, to fadeless skies !" 



35^ THE CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL. 



THE CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL. 

" And he fell to the earth and heard a voice saying, Saul, Saul, why 
persecutest. thou me ?" — Acts ix. 4. 

STRICKEN blind by the dazzling light 
Which from the clouds shone o'er him, 
Prone on the earth he trembling lay- 
Under the Syrian palms, that day 
That brought his sins before him. 

He saw poor murdered Stephen rise 

With eyes of loving kindness — 
He heard the words from Christ's own lips, 
That from his soul rent the eclipse 

Of more than mortal blindness. 

And in each mangled form his hand 

Had given to be martyred, 
He saw Christ crucified again — 
He felt the passion and the pain 

Of all his soul had bartered. 

And, groveling in the dust, he plead — 

" Lord, teach to me my duty !" 
Oh humbly, with him, let us pray 
For light to guide us on our way, 

That we may see its beauty. 

For, like to Saul of Tarsus, we 
Still lend a hand in stoning 



LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 357 

Some helpless Stephen— tho' the grace 
Of God shines in his anguished face, 
That pride forbids our owning. 

We wrap us in self-righteousness, 
And thank the God that formed us 

Of common clay — that we are not 

As yon poor Publican, whose lot 
Is far from that that warmed us. 

Oh smite us blind ! if from the blow 

Our inner vision waketh — 
That we may see how Jesus died. 
And feel that all the crucified 

His heritage partaketh ! 



LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 

" These things I command you, That you love one another. "- 
St. John xv. 17. 

CLASP hands, pilgrims, sore benighted 
In the darkling mists terrestrial — 
There's a beacon, heaven-lighted. 

Shining from the heights celestial. 
That will guide ye upward ever. 
When, as brother unto brother, 
Ye resolve, with true endeavor 

And God's help,, to love each other. 

'Tis a rugged way we travel. 

Here a slough and there a brier — 



358 LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 

And the farther we unravel 

Its dark depths, the more we tire ; 

But a little lamp of brightness 
Each can trim, to cheer another 

With its holy, heavenly whiteness — 
'Tis to truly love each other. 

Love not only them that love thee 

(This is but thy self-love feeding), 
But, as He loved who above thee 

From high Calvary bends bleeding, 
Love the hand that's raised to scourge thee 

By thy fellow- worm, thy brother ! 
Thus, and only thus, thou'lt purge thee 

Of all pride — thus love each other. 

Love, through direst persecution ; 

All thy foemen are but mortal, 
And must make thee restitution 

At Death's surely leveling portal ; 
Where, if proven thou hast ever 

Hate and Falsehood tried to smother 
By sweet Truth — ah ! never, never 

Can it be said, "Ye loved no brother I" 

Hatred cannot bud and blossom 

If by love 'tis softly grafted ; 
And the seed within thy bosom 

Still will show whence it was wafted ; 
If the soil is barren, never 

Will ye harvest reap ; then smother 
All thy littlenesses, ever 

Thinking how to help a brother. 



THE OLD WOMAN TO THE TOUNG ONE. 359 



THE OLD WOMAN TO THE YOUNG ONE. 

OH deem it not, Jeannle, an idle task 
To give what lies in your power 
To poor old grandma, who asketh to bask 

In your sunshine one little hour. 
For it comforts the aged heart to see 

Its own dear lambkins play. 
And to think of the world as it used to be 
When life to it was May-day. 

In my cheek, where ye see a wrinkle now, 

A dimple once lay hid — 
And toss as ye please the curls from your brow. 

And roll up the fringed eyelid — 
Ye are coming to this, my dear, my dear — 

Your beauty is coming to this, 
When Time on your brow sets his stamp of care 

And seals youth's fountain of bliss. 

Then, looking back, Jeannie, upon the past. 

Ye too will learn how much 
Life's venturous voyagers have cast 

In its sea of promise ! — and such 
Ye'U know yourself to be, my dear. 

When wreck after wreck floats by, 
That once bore freightage of goodly cheer 

And flaunted gay pennons high ! 

And then, when ye roam on that barren strand 
And hearken the moaning tide 



360 MT NEIGHBOR. 

As it ebbeth away from the darkened sand, 

Bereft of its silvery pride, 
Ye'll search with a quivering hand, ray dear, 

For each little wave-washed shell, 
And list with an eager, trembling ear 

To the tale that its pink lips tell, 

Of other climes and of sunny seas 

Far away in the golden land. 
That has musical whispers in its breeze. 

By angelic pinions fanned ! — 
The land, my Jeannie, you live in now. 

My darling, my pink-lipp'd shell 
To whose tuneful cadence I bend my brow 

To dream 'neath the magical spell. 



MY NEIGHBOR. 

OVER die way I've a' neighbor, 
A peering, inquisitive she. 
Who leans over her balcony scanning 

My poor little garden and me ; 
I've planted a few simple flowers, 

To brighten my home with their bloom. 
And to waft me at even a dream-thought 
Of Araby steeped in perfume. 

But this neighbor of mine sees no beauty 
In green leaves, unless underneath 



MT NEIGHBOR. 361 

A pea-pod or bean lies maturing, 

Or sugar-corn in its silk sheath ; 
And thinks that my time I am wasting 

In watering and tending with care 
My rosy-lipp'd pets, and deploreth 

Because I've of brains such small share. 

I know that I am sadly deficient 

In many things, " brains" *mongst the rest, 
And find a delight in small pleasures, 

And relish with infinite zest 
The trill of the song-bird at twilight, 

The chirp of the cricket so shrill ; 
The whispering breeze 'mong the myrtles. 

The music of fountain and rill. 

And tho' I am awed when the storm-king 

His wind herald sendeth abroad. 
And calls the red lightning to aid him 

With its flashing electrical sword — 
Yet, trembling, I still stand entranced 

This versatile Nature to see, 
That can launch forth the thunder and whirlwind 

Or sport with the buds on the lea ! 

And only because I love roses 

Much better than cabbage — why she, 
My critical neighbor, deploreth 

The want of good sense in poor me ! 
But God made the flowers, my dear lady — 

You say, " He made cabbages too" — 
Well, leave me my roses, I'll freely 

Give all of the cabbage to you. 
31 



362 THE WEDDING GARMENT. 

THE WEDDING GARMENT. 

" Many are called, but few are chosen." — St. Matthew xxii. 14. 

MANY are called to the marriage-feast, 
From the highways and byways to enter there- 
He that is greatest and he that is least, 

The penniless and the millionaire ; 
The saint, the sinner, the simple, the wise — 

And the fatlings and the oxen are killed ; 
And the hungry guests may feast their eyes 
On the sumptuous board with dainties filled. 

But the King has spied, 'mongst the motley crowd. 

One with no wedding-garment on, 
And unto his servants he calleth aloud 

To cast him out and bid him be gone ! — 
Out in the darkness, to moan and weep 

And gnash his teeth in vain despair. 
For the folly that bade him blindly creep 

Where his garb proclaimed he had no share. 

It was not a robe of purple and gold, 

This wedding garment, so chaste and fair, 
But a mantle white, in whose every fold 

You might read a ready obedience there 
To come, when the King saith, " The feast is spread !' 

Then come from the highways and byways, all. 
With a simple trust and a reverend tread. 

When the Lord of the feast doth on you call. 



THE WEDDING GARMENT. 363 

Enter ye in at the open gate, 

Lo ! it stands by the wayside now — 
There ye may sit where Jesus sate 

And preached to the crowd from the mountain's 
brow ; 
Out where the broad bright smile of God 

Lightens the earth and touches the heart, 
Till the stubborn knee is bent to the sod, 

And the fountains of feeling their waters start ; 

And the upturned rays of the eye of Faith 

Acknowledge the Father's protecting power 

Tho' the trembling lip no utterance hath 

In deep contrition's sacred hour ! 
Yet think ye that ever the loudest prayer 

Of the hypocrite, breathed in the temple, is heard 
Above the sweep of the golden hair 

Of the Magdalen's offering without one word ? 

Nay, nay ; for she sat at Jesus' feet, 

And he pitied her, for " she loved much !" 
Your wordy devotions may sound complete. 

But in charity, ah ! have they lessons such ? 
Nay, nay ; again, a thousand times nay ; 

That Man of Sorrow ye never knew — 
From your cushioned footstools Him ye slay 

And His crucifixial pangs renew ! 

The lessons of mercy He gave His life 
To inculcate, where, oh where are they? 

Lost in the vortex of human strife 

In the pomp and pride of man's little day ! — 



364 LOVE THAT PASSETH UNDERSTANDING. 

Lost in the toil of pitiful worms 

For butterfly wings to sport in the sun 

Of worldly favor — forgetting the germs 
That their earth-life faintly has begun. 

Many are called to the marriage-feast, 

But few remain ; oh be thou one 
Of the favored few ! Then haste, oh haste 

To put the wedding garment on ! 
And when thou'rt bidden, go freely in ; 

The trusting ones are the pure in heart — 
To the Lord of the mansion confess thy sin 

With truth, and He'll bid thee not depart ! 



"THE LOVE THAT PASSETH UNDER- 
STANDING." 

SING, O my soul ! in the morning, 
When golden the Orient gleameth, 
Sing a glad song with the dawning — 
Sing of the love that there beameth 
In flashes of beauty, expelling 

The mists that the dark night doth gather, 
And join all the angels excelling 

In strength, in the praise of the Father \ 

Sing of the love that surpasses 

The love of the soft heart of woman ; 

The greater than any that glasses 

The soul's depths when linked with the human ; 



THE BEGINNING AND THE END. 365 

The infinite love the Creator 

Bestows on the creature inglorious, 
And sends a Divine Mediator, 

O'er sin, death and hell all-victorious, 

Who taketh away our transgressions 

That we may His kingdom inherit ; 
Who tramples all evil oppressions, 

To make us like Him in the spirit ! 
Oh greater than any that glasses 

The soul's depths when Life's bark is stranding 
Is the infinite love that surpasses 

Our fallible, weak understanding ! 



THE BEGINNING AND THE END 

THE Alpha and Omega, 
The beginning and the end ; 
King of kings, and Lord of lords. 

Whom angel hosts attend — ' 
Lo ! in clouds He cometh 

With power and glory great, 
And every eye shall see Him — 
Yea, they that on Him spate ! 

And men's stout hearts shall fail them 

With fear for what shall come, 
For the heavens shall be shaken, 
While earth lies prostrate, dumb ! — 
31 » 



366 THE BEGINNING AND THE END, 

Whilst He, with Truth's strong-bladed, 
Two-edged sword shall thrust 

Each bosom's deep recesses, 
Despite of mortal rust — 

And make of each a temple 

Ecstatic with God's praise — 
Like those archived in mystic 

Old apostolic days. 
Where, by the angel keeping 

The sacred record bright, 
He stands in glowing vestments 

And loudly calleth, "Write 1" 

These things saith He that holdeth 

The stars in His right hand : 
" To him that overcometh 

Shall be given the fruitage fann'd 
By Eden airs eternal. 

Blown on the Tree of Life 
That stands in God's own garden, 

Where sin comes not, nor strife. 

'" For he that overcometh 

And is faithful to the end, 
The second death shall hurt not — 

And unto him I'll send 
A new name which none knoweth 

Save he to whom 'tis given ; 
And he the hidden manna 

Shall eat that grows in heaven ! 

" His name, before my Father 
And his angels, I'll confess ; 



THE SUFFERING. 367 

And from God's book not blot it, 

But in golden letters press ; 
And a pillar in his temple 

He ever shall remain — 
For I am He that openeth 

And no man shuts again. 

" To him that overcometh 

I will grant to sit with me 
Upon my throne in glory, 

And share my ministry." 
These things saith He that holdeth 

Of hell and death the key : 
He comes ! He comes in glory, 

And every eye shall see ! 



THE SUFFERING. 

YE'VE suffered — yea ! and suffering, turn 
To Him who suffered more — 
For he will take your pains and give 

Them to the cross He bore ! 
Then faint not when the petty cares 

Of earthly toils annoy, 
But look above to Calvary 
And change your woe to joy. 

For Life is such an empty show 
That vanisheth away 



368 THE SUFFERING. 

When death lets in the morning beam 

That brings all-perfect day, 
That we, as children waked from sleep, 

Will wonder whence have fled 
The phantom shapes that filled our dreams, 

And hollow mockery shed 

O'er time, with all its changeful tides, 

And fitful calms and storms, 
And magnified this poor frail flesh, 

Made to be food for worms ; 
Until, with pride-inflated brows, 

We'd strut our little hour. 
And chafe at every threatening cloud 

That brought us wind or shower. 

But as from earth we cleave away 

From star to star, and see 
How glorious are the golden streets 

Lost in infinity — 
Mayhap we'll find a little gleam 

Shining for us apart. 
And by its light we'll read a page 

That earth wrote on our heart 

When storm and darkness seemed to spread 

Between us and the sky ; 
When, if we knew, we might have heard 

A message from on high ! 
That God's own hand had sowed a seed 

Of anguish in our breast, 
To bear immortal flowers when we 
. Should walk the paths of rest ! 



THE SUFFERING. 369 

For what is life, and what is wrong-. 

That we should grieve at aught 
We find upon our daily rounds 

Springing like tares unsought? 
We may put out an eager hand 

To grasp some wayside bloom, 
But it will vanish — as will grief — 

On this side of the tomb. 

But yet, each little roadside bud 

Some lesson will impart 
If with a child-like faith we lay 

Its unction to the heart ; 
For leaf and blossom, each doth point 

Unto the full-blown flower. 
Which only springs perfected from 

Grieved Nature's tearful shower. 

fellow-pilgrims, who with me 
Do tread. this vale of tears, 

1 would your eyes could pierce the haze 
Where the Dark Valley rears 

A skeleton to fright the weak, 

Who think this world is all — 
I'd help you shake the old dry bones. 

And lift the darksome pall, 

To find a glorious light within 

The rank sepulchral gloom ; 
And then ye'd magnify the Power 

That doomed ye to the tomb, 
Y 



370 THE INFANT TEACHER IN THE TEMPLE. 

And sent pain, sickness, sorrow here 

As ministers to lure 
Us from these ev^anescent scenes 

To cHmes where all is sure. 



THE INFANT TEACHER IN THE TEMPLE. 

HE sits among the Elders 
And rulers of the land — 
Twelve summers' suns have kissed His cheeks, 

Their airs His temples fanned ; 
But in their golden glances 

He sees the rays divine. 
And reads His Father's messages. 
Whether in shade or shine. 

Grave, learned men attend Him, 

And bend the reverend ear 
To catch the pearls His infant lips 

Let fall, both pure and clear ! 
Blind leaders, they, unconscious 

Of the honor that is theirs- — / 

Just as in life we entertain 

Oft angels unawares. 

For, from the mouths of sucklings 

And babes, comes wisdom forth, 
And lordly man may turn to these 

To learn what life is worth ; 



''ONLY A jew:' 371 

For fresh from heaven cometh 

The oracles of youth 
Unstained by earth, their purity 

Flows from the fount of truth ! 

O little children, bless ye ! 

For Christ has bidden ye " Come !" 
So pure from Eden, sinless still, 

Ye leave the heavenly home. 
That tho' your feet have trodden 

A while this mundane sphere, 
Still, holy thoughts upwelling from 

Your soul's depths cometh clear — 

Such thoughts, that we poor pilgrims, 

Scarred in the fray of life. 
May ponder on and profit by 

When mingling in the strife ; 
We may be learned doctors. 

And deem ourselves profound — 
But a little child can questions put 

Which grayheads may confound. 



"ONLY A JEW." 

[AN INCIDENT OF THE EPIDEMIC IN NEW ORLEANS, SEP- 
TEMBER, 1867.] 

Passing along street, I saw a shabby-looking, dingy hearse 

standing before the door of a little shop where all sorts of " notions" 
had been exposed for sale only the day before. In such trying times 
as these were, it mattered not whether rusty moreen and badly-painted 



372 '' ONLY A JEWr 

pine boards, or silver-mounted ebony and cut glass enclosed mortality's 
poor remnant ; our heart ( if we have one) must give a few sympa- 
thetic throbs in unison with the mourners around some desolate 
hearthstone. Stopping, I accosted a woman who sat upon a door- 
step on the opposite side of the street ( I was walking on that side) 
with the question, " Who is dead over there ?" With an expression 
impossible to describe in words, for it " out-Heroded Herod," she re- 
plied, ^'■Only a Jew T 

" /^~XNLY a Jew !" from Christian lips 
V_y Came the " blood-for-blood" reply — 
As tho' Christ had never died for us, 
To teach us how to die — 



And how to live ; that His life and death 
Might bring " God's chosen" home 

Along the thorny, blood-stain'd track 
His Son was doomed to roam. 

Only a Jew — of them that scourged 

And crucified our Lord, 
Who, hanging on the cruel cross, 

Prayed for them unto God ! 

' Only a Jew" — as tho' some dog 

Had yielded up this life — 
And not a fellow-being, born 
To brave with us its strife. 

Ah ! wayside woman whom I met. 
Who " Christian" claims to be. 

Perchance that Jew you scoffing spurned, 
May brighter shine than thee, 



WHO ARE THE BLESSED f 373 

When that great book is opened, where 

The good seed sown on earth 
Will show a golden tropic bloom, 

In a celestial birth. 



" Only a Jew !" — O Saviour, King ! 

When we shall come to die, 
" Only a sinner" — on our lips. 

Shall wait thy sweet reply 



WHO ARE THE BLESSED? 

NOT the haughty, who their fellows 
Spurn as raised of coarser leaven- 
But the poor in spirit, humbly 
Seeking grace, though lowly, dumbly, 
Theirs the kingdom of high heaven ! 

Not the joy-crowned one, whom never 
Sorrow touched with blasting fingers ; 

But the mourner, worn and weary 

Of this earthly race, so dreary. 

Who beside some white stone lingers. 

Not the Shylock, who exacteth 

Pound for pound — but he who ever 
Weighs his fellow-man by human 
Weaknesses, as born of woman. 
And from flesh can ne'er dissever — 



32 



374 WHO ARE THE BLESSED? 

He, the merciful, shall ever 

" Twice bless'd mercy" reap, rejoicing ! 
And the pm'e in heart, God's features 
Shall behold, where cherub creatures 

And seraphic hosts are voicing 

Hallelujahs, deep and tender, 

As when sang the sons of morning ! 
And the peace-makers are blessed. 
They God's children stand confessed, 
All the walks of life adorning. 

But thrice bless'd are ye, when falsely 

Men shall persecute, revile ye 
For Christ's sake ! — Their taunts unheeding, 
Rejoice ! and be ye glad exceeding, 
For their tongues can not defile ye. 

Great is your reward in heaven — 

For 'twas thus that they oppressed 
God's evangelists, before you — 
Let no dark dismay come o'er you. 

For you're numbered with the blessed ! 

Who are blessed ? All who sorrow, 

All who are in tribulation. 
Bearing still their cross in meekness. 
Laying at Christ's feet their weakness. 

Are the heirs of His salvation ! 



/ 



FOLLOW ME. 375 

"FOLLOW ME." 

[ St. Matthew ix. 9-14.] 

SO Jesus spake to him who on 
The shore of Galilee 
At the receipt of custom sat — 

"Arise, and follow me!" 
And he arose and followed where 

The many sat at meat ; 
The publican and sinner there, 
The outcast from the street. 

And lo ! among the wretched herd 

The Lord of life sat down ; 
While round about the scornful word 

And Pharisaic frown 
Went curdling from lip and brow : — 

" Why doth your Master eat 
With publicans and sinners ? How 

Takes he so low a seat?" 

But Jesus heard, and answered quick — 

" They that are whole and well 
Need no physician — 'tis the sick ; 

Know ye the secret spell 
Of what that meaneth ? I will have 

Mercy, not sacrifice ! 
'Tis sinners I have come to save — 

Repentance will suffice !" 



37^ AN OBITUARY. 

And Jesus speaketh now, as then, 

Upon the crowded mart, 
Where traffic weighs the souls of men 

And petrifies the heart : 
" Come from your grasping, toiling strife, 

Heirs of eternity ! 
Lay down the petty cares of life, 

Leave all, and follow me !" 

And Jesus seeketh now, as then, 

The wretched and forlorn. 
The outcast and the scorn of men. 

The vile and lowly born — 
Saying, " Poor sin-stained hands and feet. 

No more for refuge flee 
Where quicksands lie and whirlpools meet ; 

Arise, and follow me !" 



AN OBITUARY. 

ANOTHER spotless angel stands 
Beside the great white throne, 
A golden harp within his hands, 
His Saviour's love to own. 

Who saith to little children, " Come, 
And share my kingdom pure !" — 

Then weep not that your child has reached 
Unharmed the heavenly shore. 



AN OB ITU ART. 377 

No load of sin, no earthly stain^ 

To mar his upward flight, 
But, passing on and on and on 

Unto the realms of light, 

That glimmering afar had caught 

His eager, searching gaze. 
That ever seemed to look beyond 

This life's obscuring haze. 

Yes, little Tommy, thou hast pierced 

The veil ; and on thy brow 
Is set the seal God's hand imprints 

On those who early go. 

The intellect that lit thy face 

With more than childish thought. 

Shall brighten with angelic grace 
When time shall be as naught. 

The love and tenderness that sprang 

Spontaneous in thy soul. 
Will blossom with perennial flowers 

When years no more shall roll. 

Then, father, mother, cease to weep ; 

The early called are blest — 
Escaped the turmoil and the strife. 
Theirs is the heavenly rest ! 
82* 



37S DAISY WOMEN. 

"DAISY WOMEN." 

[TO " PEARL RIVERS."] 

" So men of the Sunflower notion, 
Seeking the wide world through, 
Mate with the Daisy Women — 

Simple and sweet and true." — Pearl Rivers 

O SWEET Pearl Rivers, 
You are a Daisy Woman, 
With the spirit of a flower 

And a heart that's very human — 

But I w^ould not have you mated 

With a tall Sunflov^er, 
For he'd crush you v^ith his greatness, 

And spoil your pretty bower. 

For you, Pearl Rivers, 

Were made to bloom with roses. 

When the fay-man of the garden 
Its tenderest buds uncloses. 

Now, what would you be doing 

In a Sunflower palace. 
Like a little meadow Violet 

In the halls of Borealis } 

Oh never wed. Pearl Rivers, 
A man of " Sunflower notion," 

For you surely would be stranded 
By his uprising ocean — 



DAISr WOMEN. 379 

And you'd miss the cozy brookside 
Where you dreamed away the hours, 

Amid the whispering leaflets 
And the gossip of the flowers ; 

Where the butterfly was flitting 

Over every dainty blossom, 
And the honey-bee was resting 

In the sweet acacia's bosom — 

And the lilies of the valley 

Hushed their silver bells' soft ringing. 
And all, with ears uplifted. 

Were hearkening thy singing. 

Why, the humming-bird would never 
Seek you in your glittering raiment. 

And poor, lost Robin Redbreast 
Would feel he was no claimant 

On Lady Sunflower's bounty. 

Though she once was little Daisy — 

Oh spurn the golden offer 

Lest you set the wildwood crazy ; 

And be, indeed, a Daisy, 

An unpretending flower 
That is happier in the greenwood 

Than in a gilded tower. 

For your men of Sunflower notion 

May stoop a. while to dally 
With the blossoms they have gathered 

In some green and happy valley. 



3S0 THE NATIVITY, 

But when Fame's trump is pealing, 
And Ambition calls " Arise !" 

They, like the Sunflower, turn them 
To their idol in the skies — 



And forget the wee wife-daisies 
Who, pining in the shade, 

Lock their sorrows in their bosoms 
And in silence droop and fade. 



THE NATIVITY. 

FROM lands where rose the sacred fire 
( The Magian's simple rite) 
Above the Orient's glittering waves 

Unto the source of light — 
From lands where pod's own starry skies. 
An open book, before them lies, 
In which they read, " A King shall rise," 
A glorious King shall rise — 

Came Wise Men to Jerusalem ; 

Led by the Herald Star 
That o'er fair Persia's sun-kissed hills 

Had guided them afar — 
While frankincense and myrrh they bring. 
And golden gifts, as offering 
To Him, the Prince of Juda ! King ! 
Born to be Israel's King ! — 



THE NATIVITY. 381 

While shepherds in the distant field, 

Guarding their flocks by night, 
Were startled by the passing wings 

Of angels in their flight ; 
When lo ! the angel of the Lord 
Came down with reassurins: word — 
" Fear not !" said he ; " but list th' accord— 
Th' angelic choir's accord !" — 

'''•Gloria in Excelsis T sansf 

The host o'er Bethlehem's plain ; 
'"'• Gloria in Excelsis I" rang 

The sphere that caught the strain ! 
'-''Gloria in ExcelsisV still, 
In echoes from Judea's hill, 
" Peace on earth, to men good-will ! 

To men good-will ! good-will !" 

" For all ! for all !" the angel said. 
Came tidings of great joy — 
That in a manger low was laid 

A new-born, baby boy, 
Of David's line — a Saviour ! King ! 
''''Gloria in ExcelsisT sing, 
O earth ! while heavenly echoes ring ! 

While heavenly echoes ring ! 

And sing, O man ! the sacred strain 

That angels sang thee then ; 
Let sweet " good- will" be the refrain, 

And peace must come to men ! 
For all, for all, the angel said. 



383 ARISE AND WALK. 

The tidings of great joy were spread — ■ 
And for us all that Saviour bled, 

For all, that Saviour bled ! 

For you, bold scoffer in your pride, 

Was he thus lowly born ; 
For you, poor child of sin, He died, 

For you, whom sinners scorn ! 
For all, for all. He came that day — 
To all He pointed out the way — 
For all He gave his life away. 

He gave His life away ! 

Gloria In Excelsls sing 

Unto the Prince of peace ! 
Let earth with hallelujahs ring. 
And strife and discord cease. 
For all, for all, good tidings came — 
Sing, all ye ransomed, in His name, 
Sing hallelujah to the Lamb, 

Hosanna to the Lamb ! 



''ARISE AND WALK!" 

[ St. Matthew ix. 6, 7.] 

SEE the poor paralytic, numbed and trembling. 
His quivering limbs all useless at dissembling- 
Stretched pallid, feeble on his couch, is calling 
Master !" and hears the words of comfort falling — 
" x\rise and walk !" 



ARISE AND WALK. 383 

" Be of good cheer, thy sins are all forgiven !" — 
Poor helpless one, by simple faith thou'rt shriven ! 
The Master bids thee use thy stricken members. 
And tramples out thy sin's low smouldering embers — 
" Arise and walk !" 

Arise and walk ! Lo ! Christ the Lord hath spoken ! 
The bands of dark-brow'd sin and death are broken — 
For He, the God of mercy, sees thine anguish ; 
Afflicted one, no longer need ye languish — 
Arise and walk ! 

Arise and walk ! The Son of Man hath power 
To loose thy burden in the darksome hour 
When In the " Slough of Despond" thou art falling ; 
His help is near — His voice is ever calling. 

Arise and walk ! 

Walk in the meadows green His hand hath planted. 
He'll gently lead thee through the ground en- 
chanted, 
And thence unto the glorious city golden 
Where dwell the Lamb, the saints and prophets 
olden — 

Arise and walk ! 



;S4 MY FAITH. 



MY FAITH. 

" Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my 
finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I 
will not believe." — St. John xx, 25. 

I PLACE my hand confidingly 
In Christ's right hand stretched down, 
And stand erect, as tho' my brow 
Were circled with a crown ! 

I ask not leave to touch the wounds 

That tore his side ; nor feel 
The imprint of the nails that pierced 

His holy palms ! — I kneel, 

As kneeled the publican of old, 

And with a contrite sigh, 
Pray, Christ, on me, a sinner, look 

With mercy from on high ! 

And oh, within my heart of hearts 

I feel His presence near ; 
He counts each anguished pulse that throbs, 

And treasures up each tear. 

Oh how I wish that I could put 

In words the faith that's mine — 
That feels the keenest earthly grief 

Is sent by love divine, 



THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS. 385 

Some wondrous mission to fulfill 

Within the stubborn soul — 
The prophet's rod to break the rock 

And bid sweet waters roll ! 

I know not wherefore comes this faith— 

'Tis simple as a child's ; 
But it a beacon-light will prove 

Through many dreary wilds 

That lie between me and my home, 

Where surely I must meet 
The suffering — and lay my cross 

At the dear Saviour's feet \ 

I would not give this humble faith 

For all the wealth of Ind, 
For it will light my path when earth 

And care I leave behind. 

I place my hand in Christ's right hand, 
And know he'll lead me through 

The fiery furnace, and whate'er 
He wills I shall pursue. 



«'THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS." 

IN His days Judah shall be saved, 
And Israel in safety dwell ; 
The Lord our Righteousness His name. 
Of whom the olden prophets tell ; 
33 Z 



386 THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

He shall with judgment execute 
Justice in this poor sinful earth, 

Where disobedience flourishes 
Now, as in man's primeval birth ; 

Where serpents still coil under flowers, 
And Satan evil counsel brings 

To blast full many Eden blooms, 

And leave a blight, like creeping things. 

But He, the righteous Branch, shall raise 
His crowned head unto the sky — 

And Sin shall cower its brazen front. 
And loving kindness multiply ! 

And all the foithful shall bring forth 

The fruit of their good works ; and Peace 

Shall spread her snowy pinions wide. 
And War's red hand its slaughter cease. 

The Dayspring from on high shall dawn 
Of which the seer inspired saith, 
" The lisfht shall come to them that sit 
In darkness and the shade of death !" 

For God His people shall redeem — 

The Lord our Righteousness His name ! 

Be joyful in Him, all ye lands, 

And all ye nations sound His fame ! 



THE END. 



